


Secrets of the Don

by Changed_Daily



Category: Furry (Fandom), Hmofa
Genre: Anthropomorphic, F/M, Furry, Human, Interspecies Relationship(s), Italian Mafia, Organized Crime, Rat Anthro, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:47:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28151856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Changed_Daily/pseuds/Changed_Daily
Summary: Dominic Manzarelli made quite a few sacrifices to clean up his act after a stint in jail made him reconsider his involvement in the mob. It's been a few years since then, and when he finally gets his life back to normal, a letter from a good friend shows up, drawing him back in to the eyes of the wrong crowd. When he falls in love with the daughter of the Don himself, Dominic's world begins to unravel around him, putting him and those around him in grave danger. Crime always has a way of catching up to you.
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

Everyone who knew Angelo Capodano loved him. He considered everyone around him to be his family, and he always made sure to help out family first. The rat-man would give out of his own wallet to pay his friends' debts and pull strings to land them jobs, rarely asking for anything back. If he owed a favor, he made it a personal policy to pay it back ten-fold.

His greatest boon was his ability to charm almost anyone. Angelo would invite himself over to an associate’s house for dinner, entertaining them with stories of growing up as a 5th child with no father in an apartment built for two. He would dance with his host’s wife, and, if berated, would offer his hand to the host as well. Impressive, considering most folks wouldn’t come within 10 feet of another rat-man.

He was very well connected, and it seemed like he always knew the right person for every situation. Angelo knew the old Mayor Whitecliff on a first-name basis, and even shook hands with the governor twice. He always maintained a positive impression on those he talked to. To the day when they finally took him away, I had yet to meet a single person who held a grudge against him. Although to be fair, I met plenty at the trial.

With the line of work we were in, that positive impression was kind of a necessity. Even though the boss did the best he could to hide it, we all knew that what we were doing could also be classified as “extralegal.” Angelo had a claw in so many restaurants, auto-part shops, and laundromats, we were surprised the man had enough time to sleep. With the time he put in, and the sheer volume of wealth he gave out without the expectation of repayment, the money he was making from his dinky little mom-and-pop shops just didn’t add up.

It was three years ago when the IRS made this same realization and looked into some of Angelo’s more successful ventures. The writing was on the wall, and the police took many of us in for questioning. Dozens of people close to the Don himself were interrogated, all to build the biggest money laundering case the state had seen for four decades. In the end, Angelo had the choice to reduce his own sentence by divulging the names of everyone else who worked with and around him. To his credit, though, Angelo may have been a rat, but he wasn’t a rat. He refused to implicate any other associate by name.

Even then, he couldn’t shield us completely from the arm of the law. Two of Angelo’s brothers are serving time for trafficking charges, and another one of his associates is joining him for an effective life sentence after accumulating hundreds of blackmail charges. As for me, none of my older “jobs” were uncovered by the investigation, but after finding my signature on the balance sheet of a pizzeria with profits that seemed just a bit too high, I got sent to the slammer for my own 6-month stint and received a hefty fine. It was a mess to try to fix up my life after that, but after a year of good behavior and careful management, I’ve gone back to doing what I was doing before I worked for the don. I have my own mechanic shop out on Maple Road and 24th Street. I’d be lying if I said it payed half as well as the old gig, but no one gets hurt, and at least I don’t have to worry about the fuzz anymore.

It had been a year and a half since I served my time when I heard anything from the family. It was a freezing January morning, and it had snowed two inches the night before. I had made a small fortune the month earlier switching tires, and had just invested in new brake lathe to speed up brake jobs at the shop. I had just parked my Toyota Celica in the lot when I noticed a skinny looking bastard with white fur standing in front of the main entrance. I recognized the familiar pinstripe suit, the trademark of a made man. 

When I realized this, I cursed under my breath, drawing a revolver out from my glove compartment. Today wouldn’t be the day I got whacked. With care, I slipped the revolver into my coat and prepared myself mentally for an upcoming confrontation.

I stepped out of my car and slammed the door shut, catching his attention. He held his hands rested at his sides as he stared me down.

“Hey Tony!” I shouted. “It’s been quite a while, bud. Your car need an inspection or something?”

The rat’s fur bristled as he walked toward me. “You already know I don’t do business with scum like you,” he said, poking a claw into my chest when he finally reached me. “Maybe you thought the rest of the family wouldn’t notice when you cashed your chips as soon as things got tough, but that shit doesn’t get past me.”

I brushed Tony’s hand away and sized him up, checking him to see if he was carrying. “I didn’t say a word about you or anyone, and I served my time. I’ve paid off my debts and I’m allowed to fucking retire.” I pushed him aside and made my way towards the door of my shop. “If you want to hold that against me, Tone, go ahead. I don’t give a rat’s ass what you think of me, no offense.”

The rat snarled. “You may not be a dirty snitch, but you’re still a disgrace in my eyes, Manzarelli. When someone gets involved in our thing, they’re in it until death. You took an oath.”

“If you’re just here to berate me for cleaning up my act, then beat it.” I paid little mind to my former associate as I unlocked the door and started to open up shop. “I’m sure you have better things to do with your time, and I don’t need some thug sonuva bitch losing me business.”

The rat grunted. “Believe me when I say that I would have never reached out had it not been on the orders of the big man himself. He has a message for you.”

Tony reached deep within his jacket and withdrew a tied manila envelope, thrusting it into my hands. “Read it when you’re alone.” With that, the rat pulled his hat over his eyes and walked away.

I held the envelope in my grasp for a few moments, inspecting it for any signs of trickery. Then, looking around for any potential watchers, I stuffed the envelope in my own jacket and walked through the door. There, in the yet-unlit space of the auto-shop. I opened the drawer to my desk and shoved the envelope in, unopened. I didn’t want to start my day on that bullshit, so I figured I’d get around to reading it after work.

What followed was a mostly uneventful shift. My employees started coming in at about 8:45 AM, and handled most of the minor jobs. Some folks came around for a tire change, and some others came in for spare parts or an inspection. I spent most of the day filling out paperwork and counting revenues, and spent half an hour at the end of the shift teaching myself and my workers how to use the new lathe. All in all, a productive, if boring, day.

I grabbed my hat from the rack and was about to close up shop when I saw a curious sight. Two rat-men were getting into what looked like a heated debate across the street. It seemed as if one was getting winding up a punch when the bus arrived at the stop, and then the two figures disappeared when the vehicle left.

The exchange reminded me of the parcel I had received from my unwelcome guest, and I took it out of its place to hide once again in my coat. I started to sweat in the freezing air, as if the envelope was filled with hot coals. I waded through the fresh snow and jumped into my car, pushing the envelope into my glove compartment with my revolver. I didn’t want to take any risk of me getting seen with it. I drove back to my apartment, parked my Celica in the garage complex, and walked into the building, envelope held tightly to my chest.

The doorman of my building greeted me with a smile. “Evening, Mr. Manzarelli, how was your day?”

I kept it brief. My time in prison made me paranoid about giving away too many details, and I didn’t want to reveal the envelope to anyone. “It was long, to say the least. Need to sleep it off.”

“Understood.” He turned away from me, and I walked into a crowded elevator and punched the button for the 11th floor. After a near eternity listening to insufferable Muzak over the tinny speakers, accentuated by the full stop the lift made on each floor, it finally reached 11, and I ushered my own way out. Fumbling with my keys in one hand, I opened the door to my apartment and took off my coat, placing the secret envelope on my coffee table. Finally, safe from unwanted eyes, I tore open the top and removed the letter, reading through every word.

“To my comrade, Dominic,” it began, “We have had many a laugh and many a drink together over the last decade. It was you who helped me keep my finances in line so I could keep up with all of my work without the worry of needless expense. It was you who made sure my businesses ran smoothly in my absence. And it was in you who I confided my secrets in my darkest of days.”

“I write this letter not as a command for a subordinate or even as one of a bargain between colleagues, but rather as a request from a friend. I’ve heard rumors that you don’t associate with the Capodano family anymore. That you cleaned up your act, and that the rest left you to fix your own life only because you didn’t squeal. I’m impressed by your show of loyalty, and I want to catch up with you soon. No odd jobs, no book cooking, just a visit to an old friend. Come to Saint Germaine’s State Prison on Thursday of this week if you can. Thursday is when my guys are on duty and they’ll let you in no problem. Fill out the visiting form there.”

“It isn’t lost on me that you may think this little rendezvous risky, or otherwise a waste of time. I place faith in your good will that you’ll honor the wish of a friend. Until Thursday, I’ll wait for your visit.”

"Ciao,

Angelo Capodano" 

I held the letter in my hand for a few minutes reading it over and over, unsure of how to think or feel. I put the letter on my coffee table, and headed for the bathroom to wash my face. Leaning over the sink, I stared into the mirror at a pudgy 30-something mechanic. “It may not be as fancy as what I did before, but it’s a lot more honest. Pull yourself together, Dom! Do you really want to risk losing everything again just to see a friend you haven’t talked to in two years? What if this is some kind of trick to get back in your good graces? What if he wants to bring you back in the fold?”

Water poured from the spigot into the basin, where it splashed my hands and face and dribbled down my chin onto the floor. “You aren’t a Mafioso anymore, Dom, and you weren’t much of one to begin with.” I turned off the water, took off my coat and hung it up on the rack. My apartment was cluttered and messy, so I got to work making sure I put everything in its place. I checked all my drawers 3 times over, then returned to the coffee table, where the letter waited. 

Grabbing it from the desk, I had half a mind to tear it into shreds until in the corner of my eye flashed a reminder of the life I had left behind. Framed on the wall was a picture taken years ago, one of my old associates having a laugh at the bar. In the center stood a plump Angelo Capodano, mouth open and eyes closed in the midst of a hearty laugh. On his right with an arm around his shoulder was a younger and more fit yours-truly.

It all started to come back to me in flashes. Every book I cooked to keep operations running away from the eagle-eye of Uncle Sam. The vacant stares of junkies, high on drugs I myself once smuggled. The cold mask of terror that continues to haunt me today, frozen on the face of a man who knew only a little too much. Every sin I had done as a part of our thing, almost all of which I escaped without consequence. 

Consequence I escaped of course, with the help of Capodano himself. At the trial, he did his best to take the blame for or cover up my own crimes. It jogged my memory of all times we shared a table for a meal, toasting to our successes and forgetting our failures. All of the nights we went out, killing the time by flirting and dancing with pretty little things knowing that nothing could ever come of it. Even the late-night calls between us, the few times I got to see the true Angelo, behind all of the gangster swagger and bravado. A flawed man fighting against the law to bring himself and the people close to him up.

“The old rat might have been a devil for all of his misdeeds, but Angelo always treated me well. The man made sure I had a second chance to start over once I got out of prison. And how do I repay him?” Guilt started to weigh in my heart. “Not a letter, not a phone call, nothing! I let the big man down.” The room stood still and silent as I ruminated over my failures. 

I looked once more at the letter in my hands, now stained with bitter tears. “No. This is my chance to redeem myself as a friend. I owe that much to him after all he’s done for me.” With my mind set, I pulled myself up and marked the date and location in my calendar. It wouldn’t have been right to leave the Don waiting for nothing, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

The next few days dragged on. For most of it, I buried myself in paperwork, making sure all of my revenues were accounted for so I didn’t attract the attention of the taxman. On Tuesday, Eric, one of the mechanics at the shop, accidentally scratched the door of some rich kid’s Maserati. 

“You can see it from here, you blockhead! How did you manage to scrap it so deep?”

“It’s not that bad, you can just buff it out.”

The kid held his hand to his face. “I just got a paint job too… what if this is too deep to just buff out? I want a refund so I can get this fixed by a real professional!”

“I’ll take care of it myself for free, you big baby. Calm down.”

I placed myself in between Eric and the customer. “I heard some commotion. What seems to be the issue here?”

The rich kid gestured towards Eric. “Your employee here was rude to me after I made a complaint about a huge scratch he left on my car. I want my money back.”

“He got so worked up about it.” Eric butted in. “I tried to explain to him that it’s an easy fix but he wouldn’t listen.”

“I’ll handle this. Eric, go sort the tools, we’ll talk about this later.” The mechanic sulked away as I turned to the car to inspect the damage. As Eric had said, the scratch was long, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed up with a buff. Regardless, there was an ego that required stroking. 

In a calm voice, I said “I’m sorry for that, sir, you deserve better. We can offer you a half-refund, and I’ll give you a ticket. If you come in tomorrow or the day after, we’ll fix up the scratch for you for free, or if you want us to do it now, I’ll have one of my other guys make it look beautiful. How does that sound?”

“I can accept that as long as you talk to your mechanic about good customer service.” Eric flashed an evil eye at the kid from his blind spot. “Can we work out an appointment for tomorrow to fix it up?”

“Of course. I’ll make sure to write you down for noon. Have a nice day, sir.” 

As the customer left the building, Eric dropped what he was doing and approached me. “’Talk to him about good customer service’ my ass. What was his problem?”

“His problem was that you screwed up, and you tried to shrug it off like it was nothing. And he was right about the customer service thing, Eric, clearly you need to learn a thing or two.”

“You saw the scratch, boss, it was so shallow. You or I could have buffed it out in 5 minutes.”

I shook my head. “That isn’t the point. You’re in the business of fixing cars, not starting arguments. An angry customer becomes someone else’s customer. Next time somebody has a complaint, send them right to me.” 

His face burned red with embarrassment, and he opened his mouth to say something, but held back. I put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a good kid, Eric, but you need to calm down with our clients. Put yourself in his shoes. What if you were wearing a nice suit that you just got dry-cleaned for a date, and some bozo bumps into you and spills coffee all over your jacket, and then has the balls to tell you it’s an easy fix?”

"I’d be pretty pissed off, boss.”

I flashed a reassuring smile. “It’s not the best analogy, but now you understand how that kid felt in the moment.”

Eric’s attitude didn’t lose us any other customers that day, and he took more care in preventing any incidents. Hopefully he learned a thing or two from all of the trouble, the last thing I wanted to deal with was a repeat.

Wednesday didn’t see much of interest happen, and the day crawled on with more tire swaps and oil changes. The only saving grace was lunch break, when we all got to sit down and I got to listen to stories of the dumb nonsense my employees get up to when I’m not watching them. Today one of the younger guys, a rat-man named Pete, was telling a story about a bad date he had gone on to the amusement and disbelief of the rest of the crew.

“…And she wouldn’t shut up during the entire screening! It was so embarrassing that I excused myself to go to the bathroom and left her there.”

“Smooth moves, Casanova,” piped in Jerry. “Why didn’t you just tell her to quit blabbin’ and get to watchin’?”

“Cut him some slack, Jerry,” I cut in. “He just doesn’t know the proper etiquette. You think he goes on a lot of dates?”

Pete plastered on a fake smirk, face red with embarrassment. He fired back “More dates than you, old man! When’s the last time you’ve had any action?”

I ran my hands through my hair, slicking it back. “A few gray hairs don’t make me an old man, I’m only 35. Besides, I might not be much to look at now, but I was a lady killer 10 years ago. Girls would line up to get a piece of this.” I gestured up and down my torso. “The only woman I really need in my life right now is a good car, and I already have that. I’m not going to get any hook-ups in this shape, and I don’t have the time for anything serious.”

Jerry frowned. “Christ, Boss, that’s just sad. If you want to come out for beers some time to pick up some girls, you can call me, alright? I’m a pretty good wingman, I’ve heard.”

“Don’t worry about my love life for me, especially when I’m not concerned about it. I’ll definitely take you up on the drinks though. Saturday work for you?”

“Works for me!”

“Are you even old enough to drink, Pete?”

After some more cheerful banter, the mechanics got back to work. Before closing time, I took Jerry aside to remind him that I wouldn’t be here tomorrow, so he had to come in early to open the shop.

“No problem, Boss, but if you don’t mind me askin’, why did you need me covering for you on such short notice?”

Damnit. I couldn’t spill the truth about it, and he knows I’m not the kind of guy who takes off from work to visit friends. He also knows I’m not the kind of guy who has friends to take off work for. Thinking quickly, I excused myself with a medical concern. “I’m just getting something looked at by the doctor, kinda embarrassing to talk about.”

“Say no more. Take care of yourself, big man.” Jerry patted me on the shoulder as he left the garage with the two other mechanics working that shift. I closed up shop and drove back home.

After my usual careful routine of inspecting my house for bugs or traps, I took a beer out of the fridge and watched a football game. Angelo was a massive Dragons fan, so I made sure to tune into their home game so I could catch him up on the scores.

When it finished, I left to check my closet for something to wear. Several hangers of blue shirts and khaki pants were neatly lined up. It seemed a little disrespectful to show up in my plain old work uniform to visit Angelo. Especially after we haven’t seen each other in such a long time. 

I moved to the next item that caught my eye. The tuxedo I wore while I was a made man. It was a nice black suit with a matching bow tie. The don himself purchased it for me after my initiation as a gift. Which is why I ultimately decided that I couldn’t wear it. The tuxedo wasn’t who I was anymore, and it probably didn’t fit me anyway.

A good compromise choice was a dress shirt and black pants I kept for formal occasions. I grabbed that from the closet, ironed out the wrinkled, and hung it on the door knob. Tomorrow was the day I’d set things right.


	3. Chapter 3

A cold shower woke me up nice and early on Thursday to make sure everything was in order for my visit. The shirt fit better than I expected, although admittedly it was still a little snug around the waist. I picked out a red tie from my drawer, slipping it around my neck and tying it with perfect form, as if I had worn one in the last year. Staring at my reflection, I realized that I should start dressing like this more often.

The address for St. Germaine’s was already pulled up on the phone when I got into my car. It was a pretty short drive, about 15 minutes into one of the less reputable parts of town. I double-checked to make sure my car was locked up and turned to the facility.

The prison was a large, imposing complex, built up from gray stone. On the western side of the building was a courtyard boxed in by fences and barbed wire. Two stone-faced guards, one a rat-man, stood at the front of the building. Neither made a noise when I entered the facility. 

The main lobby was no more welcoming than the prison’s exterior. Old fixtures bathed the room in a sickly greenish light, and a low ceiling made the whole room feel claustrophobic. The only other souls in the room were a human guard standing by a metal detector, and a disinterested clerical worker fiddling with a pen behind a bulletproof glass cover. This worker too was a rat.

“Identification, please,” buzzed the speaker in front of the rat. I reached into my wallet and put my driver’s license into the exchange box. “Dominic Manzarelli? Who are you here to visit today?”

“Angelo Capodano. I’m supposed to fill out a form, I think.”

The worker tapped away her keyboard, “Just let me confirm that you are on the inmate’s visitors list and… yep, can you fill this out for me?” She placed a clipboard with a pen and form into the box.

I retrieved the form and began to fill it out. Most of the questions were simple enough, name, address, phone number. The inevitable question about criminal background aroused a little worry in me. I rose a finger to express my concern to the worker. Before I said a word, she explained, “That’s just for liability, don’t fret over it.” She smiled. “Unless you’re trying to break him out, in which case you should worry.”

I finished up the form and returned it to the rat-woman, who gave it a once-over and pointed me to the metal detector. The guard gave me a quick pat-down, took my car keys, and let me pass through the machine.

“Not even a crucifix, huh? This part of the visit usually trips up his visitors.”

Conjuring a fake smile out of politeness, I commented “Never was one for jewelry.” before asking him where Angelo’s cell was. He radioed in another guard, who escorted me around the facility to the don’s cell. As we marched up the steps on to the prison’s second floor, I remembered my own 6 months in prison, and all of the negative feelings that came with it. How had Angelo been able to keep himself together in an environment like this, knowing there’s only one way out?

The guard stopped short at one of the cells and knocked twice on the door, shouting “Capodano, you have a visitor. Get up!”

I heard some movement from behind the door as we waited for a response. “You can let them in now, unless it’s that scumfuck from the IRS. I don’t want to see him.”

The guard opened the cell door to reveal a small blank room with the bare essentials, and a shiny toilet and sink. Books were piled up on a desk near a tiny window, from authors as diverse as Shakespeare, Tolstoy, and Malcolm X. Postcards and letters from an assortment of friends, family, and strangers hung on the wall, some complete with drawings. And in the center of the room stood an older white rat in an orange uniform, giving me the widest smile I had ever seen on him.

“Took you long enough to visit, Manza. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.” The don ran over to hug me, which I returned with full strength. He took a seat on his bed and motioned towards the chair. “Have a seat, my friend.”

I took him up on his offer. “It’s good to see you too, Angelo. You look like you lost a lot of weight. You eating right?”

“Hah! I’m eating less, more like. The food here is awful; I can barely keep it down sometimes. I’d kill for some of Donna’s lasagna. How about you?” He poked at my gut. “You look like you’ve been well-fed all this time. You used to be in killer shape, what happened?”

“Ah, I don’t have the time to eat healthy or to work out. I have my own business now, and I put all of my energy into that.”

“That’s no excuse, bud, you’re gonna work yourself into a grave at this pace. You gotta take care of yourself. And what’s this about all of your energy? The family’s said you left them behind. You really turned your back on all of them?”

I broke eye contact. “Yeah. It got too real when I spent six months in federal for a signature. Who knows what could’ve happened if they could get me for anything else. I can’t do that again, Ange, I just can’t. I didn’t snitch on anyone, so when put all the money I earned from the streets back in, they let me go.”

“That’s what the other guys said too. I think I get it.” Angelo started to rub his neck fur. “You didn’t come here because you wanted to break off completely from our thing, and you tried to do so while hurting the family as little as possible. At least you kept your honor in breaking it off. What do you do for a living now?”

“I own the repair shop on Maple. It’s like what I did in high school when my parents kicked it.”

“You own your own business now? And you did it without dirty money? I always figured if any of the younger soldiers could do it, it would be you. You always seemed to know how to handle the paperwork.”

“Don’t remind me about the paperwork. You try applying for a business license when you’re an ex-con whose name is attached to Angelo Capodano.”

“Try applying when your name is Capodano!” 

We had a good laugh for a few seconds, and in that instant, it felt like nothing had changed. 

“So you have your own repair shop, color me impressed. Tell me, how do you treat your men?”

I smiled. “They aren’t my men, Ange, they’re employees. I treat them as best I can within reason. Once I started running a profit, I bumped their wages up, and I gave them each a small bonus this Christmas.”

“And the younger ones, do you teach them what I’ve taught you?”

“You mean about respect and responsibility? Of course I do, I don’t want them picking stupid fights by running their stupid mouths.”

The Don clapped twice. “Good man. And did you hire any short, hairy gentlemen such as myself?”

“My youngest mechanic is a rat, if that’s what you mean.”

Angelo got up and patted me on the shoulder. “Very good man! I’ve taught you very well it seems. Can I tell you something, just between you and me?”

“Sure.”

Angelo straightened up and put his hands on his lap. “If things were different, and if you were a rat, I would have chosen you as my successor. I think you understood what I was trying to do better than anybody else.”

I shook my head. “No, no, I left the family, that doesn’t…”

“Listen, Manza, you took the only option that wouldn’t put you in the grave or prison for life. You took the punishment you got and didn’t bring anyone else down with you. That’s an honorable way to bow out of our thing, no matter what anyone else says. And I know what you did when they first put me on trial. You tried to make all of our front businesses profitable so those employees didn’t get fucked over when I got sentenced. So that maybe someone who wanted to take over could operate their own business and put money into the fucking community.”

“I still used a lot of my street money to cover my own legal fees.”

“Fucking everybody did that!” shouted Angelo.

The guard shouted back from the cell door. “Quiet down, Capodano, or I’ll cut the visit short. We have rules here for behavior during visits.”

“My apologies, Frank.” He turned back to me. “Everyone was guilty of using their dirty gains to bolster their own legal defense instead of helping the family. Tony did it, Rico did it, even I did it. You were still the only one who saw or did anything about the bigger picture, about how it would hurt the community when I got busted. I’d prefer you in charge of my legacy over Tony any day, and it’s a goddamn tragedy that I didn’t get to make that choice.”

I found myself nodding in agreement. “Tony’s turned into a real fuckin’ douche-canoe, hasn’t he?”

“I never fuckin’ liked Tony. I could tell he was going to be a conniving little cunt when he turned 16. I only let him join the ranks because he’s my blood through my sister. He only cares about profits, he doesn’t give a shit about his men or the community. His own community! The one he grew up in!” The rat started to run his hands through his head. “He’s going to make all of the god-awful things I’ve done pointless. I don’t want to talk about him anymore. He doesn’t deserve it. Change the subject.”

I stayed there for the rest of the hour, chatting with the Don about everything from the last Dragons game, to literature, to his kids. He showed me the letters he got featuring drawings from both of his sons, talking about how proud he was of them. He still got conjugal visits from time to time with his wife and kids, and he mentioned that those were his favorite days of the month, when he got to play board games and pretend they were a normal family. I could almost see tears in his eyes while he brought it up.

At the end of the hour, the prison guard came in to escort me out of the building. Angelo and I exchanged one last hug and said our goodbyes.

“You better visit once a month, Manza, I don’t want to deal with this bullshit again, alright?”

“Of course, Ange, you have my word.”


	4. Chapter 4

Leaving the facility took weight off my shoulders. As much as I appreciated seeing an old friend, that room was too cramped for my liking, and being in any prison is uncomfortable. I grabbed my keys from the guard on the way out and took in the fresh air. It was about 11 AM, and I had the rest of the day to myself. It seemed only right to enjoy it.

I drove around downtown aimlessly for a bit, looking at the store fronts and passersby as I cruised. Whisker’s Pub and Grill was closed at this hour, and I saw a young rat-man sweeping up dirt and broken glass from the front of the building. The 2nd Street Department Store, or 2Deep as most knew it, seemed to be bustling with activity. Most of the customers seemed to be human, and it seemed as if many were exchanging unwanted gifts received during the holiday.

The idea of bringing in a gift for exchange always irked me. It’s one thing if a gift is the wrong size or something, but taking it back because you just don’t like it, or because you like something else more seems ungrateful in my eyes. People should value what they get from their loved ones, you never know if this is the last holiday you spend together.

There were a few new and unfamiliar storefronts as well. I passed a new pet shop on 5th street, where I saw a little boy holding a small puppy. They also finally refurbished the pizzeria on 6th, a former Capodano property, and an elderly rat-man I recognized from my old life was working behind the counter. Maybe a quick stop to get lunch and say hello was in order? I wasn’t in the mood for pizza, though, so I figured I’d visit another day.

What did catch my eye, however, was the new coffee shop on the corner of 8th and Main. “Coffee King” was an eccentric business, to say the least, with signs written both in broken English and Mandarin. I had skipped coffee that morning, and I figured that would be a good excuse to check out and support a local business.

As anticipated, the café had an Asian sense of décor. Each table had ornate complicated designs painted on the top, and all of them took the shape of an octagon. The walls featured Chinese writing that I didn’t understand, and the room was lit by paper lamps that varied in color based on placement in the room. The building itself was crowded, for I had unknowingly entered at the peak of the yuppie lunch-break rush.

A young rat-woman with brown fur came in and filed behind me. My first thought was to ignore her and focus on figuring out what to order, but as the minutes crawled by, I took a second glance out of boredom. She looked to be carrying a laptop, and underneath a winter jacket, she sported a Steed band shirt. Angelo had actually introduced me to Steed during my first drug run, so I figured I’d strike up a conversation to piss away the time.

“I like the shirt.”

The woman’s eyes darted around the room for a second, then pointed towards herself. “Are you talking to me?”

“Yeah, I like the shirt. Steed, right? My old boss introduced me to them a couple of years ago.”

The rat woman shrank a bit and offered a tepid “Yeah. Steed.”

Christ, talk about awkward. Maybe those knuckleheads at the repair shop were right, what kind of opener is “I like the shirt”? What the hell was I thinking?

I didn’t open my mouth again until I reached the register. The woman at the register glared straight through me and asked “What do you want, sir?”

“Just a medium black coffee, please.”

“That’s gonna be two dollars.”

I forked over the cash from my wallet and grabbed my receipt, sitting down at the nearest empty table, which happened to be under the pink lights. I’ll just wait here for my coffee and then leave, I thought. No need to embarrass myself more than I already have. 

I watched from the corner of my eye as the rat-girl talked to the cashier. At first, after placing her order, they spoke in whispers. The cashier pointed at me with a foul look, and I mentally prepared myself for the embarrassment of getting kicked out. Then the conversation shifted to one of surprise, then of laughter, and finally reassurance, as the cashier placed a hand on the rat-girl’s shoulder.

Then, things took an odd turn. The rat-girl approached my table. “Is this seat taken?”

I thought she was creeped out, why was she over here? “Uhh, no. You could take it if you want.”

“Thanks.” She sat down at my table. “Sorry if I made things weird earlier, I don’t get noticed by strangers all too much. I kinda shut down for a second.”

It seemed like I was talking to a completely different girl, where did this change of attitude come from? I glanced over at the cashier, who seemed to be swamped with orders. “It’s uh… it’s no problem. So how did you get into Steed?”

“I used to think it was total dad-rock, and my own dad used to play the older albums in the car all the time. When I got his old CDs a few years ago, though, I resonated with the Stallions album, and I’ve been a fan since.”

Alright, I thought. This was something I could work with. “What a great record. I was at one of their reunion concerts once, you know?”

The rat girl’s eyes widened. “Are you talking about the one at River Bar amphitheater? My dad asked me to go to that one! He had tickets but I blew it off to see a movie with my girlfriends.” Her voice lowered. “I really regret that I didn’t go, it was one of the last things I could have done with him.”

Oh. That was downer. “Is he, uh, not around anymore?”

“I’m not going to be seeing him any time soon, that’s for sure.”

“Believe me. I get it. My parents died in a car crash when I was in High School. It sucks to lose a parent, especially so young.”

Silence hung in the air for a little bit, only broken when the serving boy came to give us our coffee. I had a sip of my own. It was a huge step up from the instant coffee shit I made from home. It had a much richer taste without being too bitter for my palate. The perfect topic to jump-start the conversation again.

“This coffee is really good! Where did you find this place?”

She pointed to the cashier. “My friend Kim over there is the cashier, and her dad owns the place. It’s a really nice place to work after lunch.” She patted her laptop bag. “Sorry if she stared you down earlier, she’s a bit overprotective.”

“Hey, she was just trying to have your back. That’s what friends are for, after all. Also, I don’t think I ever caught your name?”

“My name’s Marcia. And yours?”

“A pretty name for a pretty woman. I’m Dominic.”

“Quite the charmer, aren’t you?” The rat girl blushed and smiled. It quickly shifted into an inquisitive look. “Actually, you look kind of familiar, Dominic. Were you on the news a couple of years ago, by any chance?”

Fuck, I knew that the news about the trial was aired across the whole state, but if I recall correctly, my name was mostly mentioned in passing. Maybe she’d believe something I made up on the spot?

“I own the Auto-Repair Shop on Maple. Maybe you remember me from when I was on during the grand opening?”

“Probably.” It looked like she bought it. “So, you own your own business. Do you like it?”

“I like what I do. It’s mostly paperwork and management, it’s my employees who do most of the repair. It pays pretty well. It’s not too interesting, other than that.”

“Hey! Don’t discount yourself! At least it’s honest.”

“Just how I like it.” I didn’t want to incriminate myself while the conversation was so young, so I decided to ask her a question. “You said you like to do your work here, so what about you?”

Marcia’s ears folded back and her tail straightened out. “Oh, I’m... in between jobs right now. I got laid off from my last job, at an engineering firm in Low Ridge.”

“There’s no shame in that, it happens. It’s part of why I started my business. You get any interviews lined up, at least?”

“It’s still a work in progress. I have a few that are an hour away, but I don’t want to commute any further than that regularly. Twinriver is my home, it’s where all my friends and family live. I’ll move if I have to, but I don’t want to go too far if I can help it. Between you and me, I’m a little rusty with my interview skills, and if I mess these up, I might have to go farther.”

“You’re a smart girl, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders, and you understand what matters most. I haven’t seen your resume, but I don’t see why anyone wouldn’t hire you. I would, if I thought you’d be interested in a mechanic position. I’m sure your interviews will go on without a hitch.”

“You don’t- Wait,” she paused. “You’d hire me? We’ve barely met.”

“Well, yeah. You’re better at talking to strangers than most of my other mechanics. I had to stop one from losing me a customer over a scratch the other day, one I buffed out in 5 minutes. The knucklehead wouldn’t stop running his mouth, I had to tell him to buzz off so he didn’t make a fool of me. I’d love a worker who I didn’t have to teach respect to.”

That story got Marcia to giggle, a squeaky, genuine laugh that fit the girl it came from. “Aww, thanks! How would you know I wouldn’t be interested, though? Being a mechanic doesn’t seem so bad.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “It just seemed like you were a little overqualified for the position, is all. Only one of my guys has his associate’s, and here you are with an engineering degree. It didn’t seem like your kind of thing.”

“I’ll tell you what. I’m going to go for these last few interviews and see if I can score a job. If not, I’ll take you up on the offer and apply for the mechanic position. Deal?”

“Deal.” I held out my arm, waiting for a handshake or some other gesture of goodwill.

Instead, Marcia gave me a wink. “What if this is the last time I see you in person? Can I get your cell number at least?”

“That would make things easier.” I took out the receipt for the coffee and a pen and handed her my number. “Here.”

“Thanks, I’m just gonna send you a quick text to make sure I put this in right.” She tapped a couple of characters into her phone and I heard a familiar “ding” from my own phone.

“You know, if you wanted my number so bad you could’ve just asked.”

She smirked. “Come on, it was more fun this way.”

Maybe it was. “I’ll let you get back to job searching. Call me if those other gigs don’t work out. Or call me if they do, we’ll celebrate."

“Will do. Nice meeting you, Mr. Dominic.”

“The feeling is mutual, Lady Marcia.” I took a bow for effect, earning another giggle from my new friend.

“Enough with the flattery. Get outta here!”


	5. Chapter 5

With an old friendship repaired and a new one budding, I almost felt as happy as I did when I first got the Auto Shop off the ground. That good mood was infectious, and my employees all seemed to be in high spirits after they clocked in. Music blared from the radio, and we finished jobs at a much faster pace than usual. It was as if we all got into a rhythm. The guys were curious about the attitude adjustment, and it only took a few hours for a certain asshole to say something that almost ruined it.

“Yo Boss, what’s got you so upbeat today?” asked Eric. “You win the lottery or something on your day off?”

“Caught up with an old friend of mine,” I replied, as I worked on replacing a flat tire from someone’s shitbox Chevy. “Petey, hand me the wrench please?”

“It’s just that you usually come in with either a scowl or some kinda neutral look on your face. But after your day off, we catch you humming with the radio. I didn’t think you even liked pop music. What’s changed?”

“He had a lot of good news to share, what’s it to you?” I turned my head to the other junior mechanic. “Pete, wrench.”

“On it, boss.”

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Eric,” said Jerry. “If the big man is in a good mood, just make sure it stays that way. Knock it off with the fucking questions.”

Eric just couldn’t leave it alone, though. “No, he has a story to tell here! We’re going drinking with this mook tomorrow and all we know about him is his age and part of his criminal record.”

That was enough. I had a lot of patience with Eric and his wise-assery, but I couldn’t let this little shit heel bring up my criminal record without saying anything. I stood up and grabbed him by the collar. “You don’t talk to me like that under my own roof, alright? You don’t talk about my fucking rap sheet like you have any clue what I did or why, alright? I should smack the shit out of you for even bringing it up.” I raised my hand for emphasis, eliciting a flinch. “I give you work, and I sign your checks. I don’t owe you dick, much less my life story. Don’t act like you’ve somehow earned that privilege ever again, capisce?”

The room tensed up, with the other mechanics stopping their own work to watch the spectacle. Eric shrunk into himself and broke eye-contact, stammering out an apology. “Sorry, Boss, I went too far with the criminal shit! I didn’t mean anything by it, I swear!”

I let go of his collar. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood today. Another boss would fire you on the spot for that display. You’re paying for drinks this Saturday, then we’ll call it square.”

My mechanic, scared out of his wits, nodded and got back to servicing the car he was working on. I looked at my other two employees, who took the hint and followed suit.

Things returned to normal by lunchtime, and both Friday and Saturday passed without any major screw-ups or any more overt disrespect from my guys. At closing on Saturday, I pulled them all aside and reminded them about our plans.

“Tonight’s the night, boys. Remember that we’re going to Redblood Lounge and that we’re meeting in the parking lot at 7:30.”

“I thought we was going to Whisker’s?” asked Pete.

“I can’t step foot in Whisker’s. I got into a bad fight a couple of years ago, and management still hasn’t lifted the ban.” This was only half-true. I could go back to Whisker’s if I wanted to, but it was deep into Capodano territory, and I wasn’t going to risk getting seen there in the dark.

“Redblood it is.” Jerry nudged Eric with his elbows. “Make sure you bring enough money for all of us, Eric.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he grumbled.

“Don’t start any shit with the bartender either,” I added.

“Drinking calms me down, that won’t be an issue. Tonight’s gonna be fun, boss, relax. See you all at Redblood.”

We all said our goodbyes and went home to prepare. After inspecting my place for any sign of intrusion, I greased up my hair and trimmed my beard to something a little more presentable. It would be unbecoming of a boss to not look his best in front of his workers, even if this wasn’t a work event. I put on a leather jacket, a t-shirt, and a clean pair of jeans then got behind the wheel.

Redblood Lounge was a strip club, and the neon signs in the windows betrayed its colorful nature. The bar maintained a drab appearance during the day, invisible when viewed within the surrounding office buildings. At night, however, the Lounge was a glowing bastion of debauchery, lit up with signs of both human women and rat-girls. Most importantly though, it was far enough from town that I didn’t have to worry about unwelcome attention from any hairy gentlemen in tuxedos.

I arrived at the bar a couple of minutes early, so I spent a couple of minutes on my phone scrolling through my email. Most of it was just junk mail and scam offers, interspersed with a few questions and complaints from customers. At about 7:30, Jerry and Eric both showed up in their own shitbox cars. It took only 15 minutes of waiting for our last companion until Eric blew a gasket.

“That motherfucker always does this. Everybody agrees to a time and he shows up 20 minutes late! Let’s just grab a table and wait for him inside.” He started to tap his feet on the ground.

I put a hand on his shoulder. “Calm down, Eric, he probably just hit traffic or something. It’s no big deal.”

“You don’t know Pete like we do, big man,” said Jerry. “Eric’s right. Rat-boy spends at least 10 minutes after he’s supposed to leave looking at himself in the mirror.”

As he said this, a red Maserati comes speeding into the lot, swerving into the entrance before carefully parking. Behind the wheel was our missing coworker.

Pete rolled down his window. “Hey, Boss, how do you like the ride?”

“You’re late. I’m more interested to hear how you managed to afford it on your wages.”

The smirk died on his face and a hint of red appeared behind his fur. “I uhh… I saved up for most of it and a friend helped me pay for the rest.”

That was troubling. I made note of it in my phone before bringing everyone together. “’A friend.’ Ok, Pete. You’ve kept us waiting long enough tonight, let’s just get our table, and then maybe you can tell us what kind of friends you have that would help you pay for a sports car.”

We walked into the club and took our place in the booth farthest from the stage. The bartender told us that the show didn’t start until 8:30. We each ordered a drink and sat down to unwind.

“I know it’s your business and all,” said Pete. “But I really am curious about what’s got you in such a good mood these last few days. What news did you get that made you so chipper?

“I’ve told you already, I saw an old friend and got a chance to reconnect. His family is doing well, isn’t that enough to celebrate?”

“That’s a bunch of bullshit, boss, no offense,” said Jerry. “Nobody gets so excited over hearing that someone’s family doing well. Is this about a girl?”

I gave him an incredulous look. “Do you really think I’d take you all to a titty-bar over a ‘girl thing?’ For a breakup, maybe.” I felt a twinge of guilt, remembering my conversation with Marcia two days before. Even if she was only part of the reason I felt so upbeat, there’s a sad irony in celebrating your success with women at a strip club.

“You’re an enigma, big man. It’s hard to read you sometimes.”

We spent half an hour sitting around the booth, each passing around stories none of us would tell sober. When it fell to me to tell a story of my own I started to get nervous. The guys were smart enough not to ask about my alleged crimes during my time with the family, but I could tell they were hungry for some stories from our thing. In my infinite drunken wisdom, I opened with a story of a dinner that almost went horribly wrong for the Don himself. I took a few liberties as to avoid giving away any potent information, of course.

“So, I know you chucklefucks already know about my criminal record, how I spent some time in the can for fraud, right? I used to be an accountant, and one of my other clients was Mr. Angelo Capodano.”

“You worked for Don Angelo?” asked Pete. “That’s crazy! How close were you guys? Did he tell you about the Chance Street robberies? Do you know what happened to Tom Diviosi?”

To answer this, I lied through my teeth. “I just worked for him as an accountant, making sure that all of the revenues on his smaller businesses were taken into account. I didn’t ever know him as ‘Don’ Angelo, only as Mr. Capodano, and after a couple of years, just Angelo.”

Pete looked a little disappointed, but my other coworkers continued to pay rapt attention.

“Because we were associates, we went to a few public and private functions together. One day, he and I were visiting an associate’s house in Pull’s Point.”

“We walk in and Angelo immediately compliments the guy’s wife, you know, trying to play the gentleman. He makes some comments during the dinner that we thought were innocent enough, and it gets some laughs from the lady of the house. We don’t know it, but this associate is fuming underneath all of this. Apparently, he was really fucking insecure about fidelity, and he thought Angelo was flirting with her. 2 hours into the visit, some old song comes on the radio. Angelo takes the guy’s wife by the hand and brings her out into the living room. The associate snaps, grabs a rifle from the wall, and points it at the Don’s head. He says ‘Step away from my wife, you dirty fuckin’ rat.’”

My coworkers listened with bated breath, hanging on to every word.

“I’m not sober at this point, Angelo even less so. Both of us are scared shitless, and Angelo steps away from the woman and puts his hands high in the air. He makes a big show of an apology, then stumbles over to the damn guy, reaches out his hand and says ‘You know, if I knew you were the jealous type, I would have danced with you first.’”

My booth erupted with laughter.

“I think if Angelo was anybody else he would have gotten his head blown off. The guy calmed down after that at least. Shame he didn’t take him up on the offer, though.”

“How many stories you got like that, Boss? Too funny!” wheezed Eric.

We had just finished a story about another bad date from Pete when the speaker from the stage started to buzz. “The first show of the night starts in 5 minutes.”

Both Pete and Eric jumped out of their seats and started tripping over each other to get to the best seats in the house, followed by a swarm of other sleazy men. Jerry and I, however, stayed in the booth.

Sure enough, 5 minutes later, the lights in the stage area went dim, and the speaker had turned on again.

“We at Redblood Lounge believe that both human and rat girls are beautiful in their own unique ways. But tonight, we’ve decided that if we’re going to show tail, we should show some goddamned tail! We only have rat-girls performing tonight, and we’re starting tonight’s performance with one of our crowd favorites. Please give it up for Janet!”

A rat-girl with black fur and several articles of white clothing came out from behind the curtain and wasted no time on starting the performance. Her movements had the perfect balance of grace and sexual allure. The crowd went wild as she danced, chanting for her to take off more and more, to which she obliged until her breasts were on full display, and the bills started flying. At least, that’s what I assumed happened. I’d seen Janet’s show twice before, so I decided to pay more attention to the conversation I was having with Jerry.

“Not interested in the show, big man?”

“Hard to be interested when you’ve been to a hundred like it.” I took a swig of my third beer.

He raised an eyebrow. “Why did you bring us to a titty-bar if you were tired of staring at titties?”

I stuck my thumb towards Dumb and Dumber by the stage, tossing their money on stage like a bunch of jack-offs. “My other employees seem to be enjoying themselves, and I wanted to talk to the competent one alone for more than 5 seconds.”

Jerry nodded and rested his head on crossed arms. “I despise strip clubs,” he grumbled. “A bunch of horny men crowding around a performer stripping naked while shoving money in her face. I feel like I’m cheating on my wife just by being here. It’s fucking degenerate and demeaning.”

“Degenerate? Yes. Demeaning? Not quite so sure about that one. I’ve talked to Janet and quite a few of the other girls here. Some of them take a lot of pride in making a performance… titillating. If everyone’s having fun with it, where’s the foul?”

“Don’t play dumb, Boss. You know that a lot of the girls here are only doing it because they can’t support themselves otherwise. It just looks like a business taking advantage of desperate people to me. Why do you think they hire so many rat-girls?”

I took another swig from my mug. “Jerry, you’re a well-read guy and I respect your opinion on most things, but with this, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Half of the strippers here are doing it to pay for college. It’s like a temporary deal. Besides these girls are all adults; they can be their own advocates. If they don’t like stripping, they can get a job somewhere else, like 2Deep or some shit. And even for the desperate ones, it’s a better option than real prostitution.”

“’It’s a better option than real prostitution,’ Christ. It’s like I’m talking to the owner of this place. Were you a pimp in your past life?”

“Don’t start this shit with me, Jerry. I was an accountant, not a pimp. I did the books for places like these and sometimes had a chat with the … You know what? Fuck this.” I slammed my mug on the table. “I didn’t come here to cry about the plight of titty-bar performers. They can choose to make money by doing something they may or may not enjoy, boo fuckin’ hoo. They’re just people trying to make ends meet, like the rest of us. Let’s talk about something else.”

Jerry looked over at the stage for a second, directly at my other two employees. “What about Pete?”

“Good choice. I’m curious about how he paid for that damn car, do you know?”

He shrugged. “He just said he saved up for it when we asked him. I’d believe him if he wasn’t so full of shit about everything else. You think he has a buddy out in Pull’s?”

“I think maybe he got help from somebody else.”

Jerry’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean to say that-“

“Just don’t be surprised if he asks either us for a loan when his ‘help’ comes knocking at his door with the bill.”

“Poor kid. If it’s true, there’s no way he knows what he’s getting into.”

My eyes drifted back to the stage, stealing a glance at Janet before zeroing in on Pete, continuing to throw money on the stage. “Let’s just hope it isn’t.”

Waiting some time for the alcohol to wear off, I got into some more conversations with Jerry, mostly about his own family. After 4 or 5 performances, Pete and Eric came back to the table. where we talked and joked around for a few more hours. We said our goodbyes and made it back to our cars. There was no trouble on the way home, thankfully. 

It was about midnight when I decided to text Marcia. I had remembered that she was all finished with her interviews on the car ride over, and so I felt it prudent to send her a text in the parking lot.

“how did u do on the interviews?”

I was on the elevator ride up when I felt a buzz in my back pocket. She responded “Think I got hired!”

Not wanting to waste time, I asked “congrats, u free 2 meet up tomorrow, same place same time?”

I got a response to this almost immediately. “Sure! See you there! :)”

Satisfied and exhausted, I strolled up to my apartment, searched my drawers, brushed my teeth, and fell face-first into bed.


	6. Chapter 6

Snow fell outside as I woke up on Sunday morning. I went through my usual morning routine, brushing my teeth, taking a shower, and combing my hair. I didn’t feel a hangover or anything from last night, so that was a relief. I turned on my TV to watch the news while eating a bowl of corn flakes. The anchorman covered the traffic and weather for a bit, mentioning a union protest over by the docks. I made a note to travel to the café from the north and went into my room to put on some good clothes. I took a buttoned-down shirt and a pair of jeans from my closet and put them on in my living room, so I could keep an eye on the news.

When I was about to grab my belt, another news anchor took over and started covering a new story.

“A rat-man’s corpse was found on the west shore of the Crowchuck river. The body was taken by Twinriver authorities early in the morning for identification. The corpse is suspected to be that of banker and suspected mobster Luciano Rossi. Police say Rossi was last spotted on camera entering an unmarked vehicle on January 5th and was reported missing on the 7th by his family. If you have any information regarding the nature of his disappearance, please call…”

Another killing. Looked like Tony’s crews were a lot sloppier than Angelo’s were if the cops actually found a body. I frowned. Shame about Rossi, though. He seemed like a nice enough guy when I knew him. I think I ate dinner with him a few times. Must have done something to piss off the new management if he managed to earn himself a one-way ticket to hell.

I shook my head and put on my belt. That could have been me if I didn’t retire. They probably wouldn’t find anyone to ID me either. Least his family will have some closure. I let out a sigh of relief. Thank God I got out.

At 11:30 I made my way down to the lobby, where the human doorman greeted me on my way out.

“Good morning, Mr. Manzarelli. How are you doing?”

“I’m doing pretty well, going out to meet someone.”

“Girlfriend?” He gave me a wide smile. How is it your fucking business?

I kept it curt while wearing a fake smile of my own. “A friend. Don’t want to keep them waiting.”

“Yes, right.”

I walked down to my Toyota, glancing behind my shoulder the whole way down. I made sure to get a close look at every passerby. Something about that asshole really rubbed me the wrong way.

My car was a fucking mess like usual. I popped open the glove box to make sure my contingency measure was still in place, then pulled up the address for “Coffee King.” Getting behind the wheel really calmed me down, and put my mind off of that bullshit in the lobby.

At noon on the dot, I had arrived at the café. The building was close to empty, a far cry from what it looked like just a few days earlier. The cashier, Kim, was having an engaging conversation with the woman I came here to see. Careful not to make a sound, I took a place in line right behind the rat-girl. letting her finish her conversation with her friend.

Kim gave me a smile and pointed my way, prompting Marcia to turn around.

“Hey, you!” The rat-girl’s eyes scanned me up and down. “I thought we agreed to meet at noon, trying to squeeze some more time out of me?”

“Maybe,” I flirted back. “Maybe I wanted to get out of the house a little bit, and meeting a cute girl a few minutes early seemed like the perfect excuse to do it.”

“Bringing out the silver tongue today, aren’t you? You know just the right thing to say, it amazes me.” Behind Marcia, the cashier cleared her throat. Startled, the rat-girl turned around to apologize. “Sorry, Kim, forgot you had a business to run.” She brushed my leg with her tail as she left towards the pink area. “I’ll wait for you by the table, Dom. Our lovely cashier here says this one is good luck.”

“Good luck?” I turned back to an embarrassed cashier.

“The colors for each of the tables. It’s just something silly my Papa came up with to get people coming back to the store. Has to do with folk beliefs back in his hometown.” She grabbed a pencil and notepad from next to the register. “What would you like to order?”

“A medium black coffee, and can I grab a glazed donut, too?”

“Sure thing. It’s gonna be two-fifty.” As I handed her the cash, she started whispering to me and motioning towards Marcia. “Speaking as a long-time friend, Marcy’s never gotten a lot of attention from boys in school. I know for a fact that she hasn’t had a boyfriend, like, ever, and this is the first date she’s gone on for at least a few years. It’s early, but I think she really likes you, so make sure you treat her right, OK? There’ll be hell to pay if you don’t.”

I frowned. “What do you think I look like, some kind of scumbag? I’m not going to hurt her, she’s way too sweet for that.”

“We’re on the same page, then,” said Kim, pointing towards the rat-girl’s table. “She’s waiting for you, Dominic.”

I made my way over to the table towards a smiling Marcia, her tail swishing in the air behind her. “So, first things first, congratulations on the job! You feel good to have that stress off your back?”

“Money isn’t really an issue for my Mom and I, but it feels great to get back in the rhythm of a job again. I needed the routine.”

“A rich girl, huh? I would never pin you for one.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, wise guy?” She asked, a smile growing on her face. “Is this rat not classy enough for your refined tastes, Dominic?”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that. I mean you’re approachable, and you don’t dress super extravagant or demand all this attention. You aren’t vain. I like it that way.”

“You’re just blowing smoke so you can keep me all to yourself.”

“Maybe.”

The server came out to deliver our food, and we both took a break to drink our coffee. We both decided to enjoy the silence of the shop for a little while, looking at the people passing by. After some minutes, Marcia spoke up. “You want to play the game where you see a stranger passing by and you try to make up a story about their whole life?”

“I haven’t played that game in a while, but sure.”

“Alright, I’ll start. How about…” She stared across the street with narrow eyes before pointing to a human man exiting a brick office building. “That guy. Looks like he had a rough day at work, judging by the slouch.”

I took a hard look at the businessman, drinking in every detail I could before adding my input. “His boss made fun of him today for that awful comb-over, which really bruised his ego.”

“Couldn’t have been a private comment. The poor guy must have been blasted in front of all of his colleagues. He was probably the laughingstock of the office today.”

The man fumbled with his pockets and dialed someone up on his phone. “He’s calling his wife to whine about it because she’s the only one who will listen.”

“I doubt she wants to, either. Does that look like a guy in a happy marriage to you?” She waved two fingers towards the man’s reddening face. “She’s probably laughing at him from the other end as we speak.”

I let loose a snort. “Yeah, well I doubt he’s a saint. Where do you think he was last night? Those office guys have to hold everything back; you know? He went out with a few college buddies to get drinks at the pub and unwind for once, and that shrew is probably talking his ear off for the fourth time in a month about it.”

My date started laughing. “You really think the kind of guy who comes to the office on Sunday is the same that gets shit-faced the night before?”

“Fuck!” I fumbled around trying to think of some kind of response while Marcia continued to giggle like a maniac. Her red eyes sparkled with joy as she struggled to recover composure. Another good opportunity to shamelessly flirt, in my book. “You know you have really pretty eyes right?”

She smiled and tapped her claws on the desk. “You can’t win by distracting me with flattery, Dom. Why is that schmuck coming to the office on a Sunday?”

I scratched my chin, pretending to think hard on it. “Maybe he had some work to catch up on and this was the best time for him. Or, maybe he wanted to catch a peek at the cute brown-haired rat-girl receptionist, to ask himself what if?”

“What did I say about flirting?”

I raised my hands. “I’m just speculating about the gentleman’s life. Tell me I’m not playing by the rules. Your turn.”

Marcia raised her eyebrows, as if she was holding something back. “Fine, my turn. The real reason he’s upset is that the receptionist won’t notice him. She’s too busy fantasizing about the insatiable flirt with the dark hair and perfect smile talking to the other rat-girl across the road.” I felt her tail start to coil around my ankle.

“And you were giving me crap. You barely said anything about the guy!”

With a sultry look in her eyes, she said “I’m not really interested in him anymore. I found something a lot more enticing.” She pulled my leg towards her and leaned in for a kiss.

I pushed myself back lightly to avoid contact. “Marcia.”

The rat-girl opened her eyes. “What? What’s wrong.” Her cheeks grew red and her ears folded back. “Did I read something wrong? I thought we were hitting it off?”

“We were hitting it off, I just didn’t want to rush into things so fast. I’m not quite ready.”

"You’ve been flirting this whole time, I thought you wanted to.” She pouted. “You can’t just lead a girl on like that, prick!” I caught Kim staring daggers at me from behind my date.

“We just don’t know each other well enough yet. I think you’re a cool person Marcia, but I don’t kiss on a first date. How about I give you the next best thing?”

“You better.”

I stood up and offered my hand to my date, who eagerly took it. Her paw was slender and soft, but she returned a firm grip. From there, we came together in a tight hug, with my arms around her shoulders and hers around my waist.

“You smell like espresso,” I muttered.

“Really now, you sure it isn’t the pounds of coffee currently being brewed in the back room?”

“You said you spend a lot of time at Coffee King, I don’t know how long you were here this morning. Maybe you dunked your head into a pile of beans before I showed up.”

Marcia pulled back and rolled her eyes. “What am I going to do with you? Well, I guess if you want us to know more about each other, how about we give each other our surnames? I don’t want to keep you in my phone as just Dom forever. What if I find out I have a coworker named Dom and I lose track of who’s who?”

I hoped I wasn’t screwing over my chances here. If she looked me up, she could easily my mugshot, my trial, everything I’ve been disassociating myself from. It could have been over right here. But if there was anything here, it would only pay to be dishonest for so long. I’d have to give her a real name.

After a joke about being Dom with the “good hair”, I said “My full name is Dominic Manzarelli.” 

Thankfully, she didn’t seem to recognize the name, and typed it into her contacts with my number. “Manzarelli. Italian, huh?”

“Grandparents were all off the boat, yeah.”

“That makes two of us then.” she said. “My family name is Capodano.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Capodano? You mean like the guy on the news a couple years ago? The mobster?” It couldn’t be true, I thought. It’s gotta be some kind of coincidence.

Marcia folded her ears back and gave me a sheepish look. “Yeah, exactly like the guy on the news.”

“That’s… Uhh… That’s wild.” I said, clinging on to every fleeting hope that things weren’t as bad as they could be. “Is he like an uncle, or a cousin or something?”

"He’s my father.”

Please, give me anything to work with, fuck! “And this is Don Capodano we’re talking about?”

“Yes. Angelo Capodano.” She wore an uncomfortable smile as she spoke. “I probably should have told you sooner, but it uh, doesn’t usually go over too well.”

“I wonder why not?” I muttered as I rubbed my temples. This had to be some kind of cosmic punishment. All these years of doing dirty deeds for my best friend just to end up dating his daughter while he’s in the fucking can. He never even told me he had a daughter! Angelo is going to kill me a hundred ways if he finds out about this.

While I visualized the many creative execution methods that the old family had in store for me, I heard some sniffling from across the table. Marcia looked as if she was about to cry. “I should have known this was a bad idea,” She said to herself. “Why do I always have to get my hopes up?” She stood up and pushed her chair in, then turned to me. “I’m sorry I wasted your time with this. I won’t bother you anymore.”

As much fear as I had for myself in that moment, seeing her walk up and leave in a mood like that hurt me more to see. As she went for the door, I got up and called for her. “Hey, wait.” The rat-girl stopped and turned, tears running down her face.

I sprinted over and grabbed her by the hand. “Please, Marcia, sit down. You didn’t allow me to say anything.”

“You looked like they just put you on Death Row when I brought up my dad’s name. I’ve seen that reaction enough to know where things are headed, and I didn’t want to make things more awkward or sad for either of us.”

“So you just leave me alone in the café without letting me say my piece?” Her face turned downward in apparent shame, and she followed me back to the table. “Please, take a seat.” I pulled out her own chair for her before returning to my own.

“I’ll be honest,” I said as I sat down. “Hearing that the girl I’m on the first date with is the daughter of a mobster? That’s never good news to hear. But, I can appreciate that you didn’t wait for a long time to tell me. I respect the honesty, especially from someone in your position.”

The rat-girl’s expression started to soften, and the sniffling slowed down.

“I’ll tell you what, Marcia. You’re a really nice girl, but this absolutely throws a wrench into things. I don’t know if we should take things any further than we have. I’m going to think on it for a while. That sound fair to you?”

Her lips curled into a sad smile. “I guess it’s all I can really ask for, heh.”

“In the meantime, we can keep talking to each other, maybe meet for coffee again. Would you want that?” At this point I would say anything to stop the poor girl from crying.

“Yeah, I would. I think this is the first time that talking about my dad’s… occupation went over this well. I’m glad you asked me to sit down.” She broke eye contact. “If you decide that we shouldn’t date, do you think we can still be friends at least?”

“Of course we can.” Not likely. It felt terrible to lie about all of this so blatantly, but it’s for the best, I thought. I didn’t want to dwell on it, so I changed the subject. “I’m sure it’s probably tough to talk about, so how about we focus on you? What makes Marcia Marcia?”

“Well, you know I’m an engineer by trade, but I’ve always had a love for reading, and I try to make the time to read a new book every once in a while.”

I hated reading, but I would do anything to avoid talking about Angelo. “What’s your favorite book?”

“You’re gonna make fun of me, but I really like A Tale of Two Cities. I had to read it for High School, but I didn’t really get it until reading it through after college. Something about the level of detail in each page. When you slow down, you appreciate it a lot more.”

“Respect to you then, I couldn’t get through that drag.”

The rat-girl rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who read the Cliff’s Notes to get through class.”

“Nah, I cheated my way through English. I went to P.S. 94, so none of my instructors really cared what I did. It was when my parents bit it too, so no one wanted fail the orphan.”

I sensed a tinge of concern in her voice. “There had to be some class that caught your interest. Or did you cheat your way through all of high school?”

I threw my hands up. “I never said I was proud of cheating.” I very much was. “I liked the business courses I took, and I passed calculus on my own. For everything else, I only showed up to class when I felt like it. There were always cigarettes to smoke.”

“Jesus, I never thought I’d date such a rebel.” she joked. “When did you clean up your act? Or am I going to find out later on that you never even got your diploma?”

The answer to that question was her father. “I found a guardian angel who smacked some sense into me. What about you, Marcia? Let me guess, you were a model student, top of the class?”

“In a family like mine? If I came home with a C on a test, I didn’t hear the end of it from Mom. I don’t blame her either, considering what she paid for private school.” She frowned. “Dad was just glad I didn’t end up as a junkie or a teen mom, not that the reputation he had didn’t help out with that. Kim was my only real friend in high school.”

“I don’t think I’ve talked to any of my school buddies in more than a decade. At least you still have someone from that far back you can trust.” I looked towards the nosy cashier, who averted my gaze. “She’s always looking out for you, you know?”

Marcia turned around to smile at the cashier. “Kim is the best, and I’m lucky I have her. She’s like a big sister to me sometimes.”

We made some more small talk for a few minutes before hugging and exchanging goodbyes. Kim pulled Marcia aside to talk about something private, so I headed back to my car alone.

As soon as I got into my car, my good mood faded. I couldn’t do it. I liked Marcia, but the last thing I needed was to involve myself any further with the Capodano family. With Angelo, I had history, and the go ahead from both him and the current leadership to visit. But his daughter? Even associating with her was dangerous. Dating was out of the question.

If I didn’t know Angelo had a daughter, it was because he didn’t want me to. In all my years involved in our thing, I didn’t hear a single word about her from him or anyone else. She didn’t show up at any functions, and we weren’t socialized to her like we were to his sons. He must not have wanted her involved in his business, either to protect her, or his own reputation. 

It was settled, I thought. As soon as I got back into my apartment, I would thank Marcia for meeting with me, then tell her that it was just too much of a risk to keep any kind of contact. Maybe make up some kind of excuse about not trying to stir anything up for her at home. Some rat-folk didn’t want their sons or daughters involved with “monkeys.”

I rolled into the car park and checked my phone. Two new notifications from Marcia.

“Hey, I kinda dropped a bombshell on you today, and I wanted you to know I’m glad that we can still be friends even if you don’t want to take it farther than that.”

“I had a lot of fun hanging out with you and I wanted to know when you were free to do this again?”

I drafted a response as I walked back into the building. The doorman from earlier was still in the lobby, wearing that same obnoxious smile.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Manzarelli, how was your trip?”

I avoided eye contact and gave a halfhearted reply. “Good. I have work to do, have a good one.”

“Alright sir, you too.”

Pain in my ass. My eyes wandered around the lobby as I waited for the elevator to reach the ground floor. Behind the desk was an award for exemplary service from some unimportant union. Next to it were some pictures of the building’s staff, including a portrait of the nosy dickhead on duty. There was an old lady who I’ve seen a few times before sitting in a squeaky chair, playing cards with her friends at a scratched up table. The lobby carpet was faded, and the walls had support beams and pipes exposed.

Two years ago, living in a place like this would have been a nightmare for me. Now, it doesn’t faze me. I’ve gone through this same routine upwards of 200 times since I got out of prison. I had to sell my parents’ old place to start up my auto shop, and this was the cheapest apartment building that was outside of family territory.

The elevator opened up, and awful covers of old pop songs rode the airwaves as I waited for the death box to take me back to my floor. I waited as the box stopped at each floor, opening to let the passengers clamber out, and slowly closing to continue its ascent.

I made my way out when the elevator reached floor 11, followed by an elderly rat man, a neighbor of mine. I opened up the door and swept the room for any “changes in décor.”

As I looked around the room checking for wires, this implacable feeling of dread started to set in. The photograph of the Capodano family at the bar, and next to it, a photo of my parents and I. These photos were trophies, reminders of who I was and how far I’ve come. But, at that moment, looking at them made me sick to my fucking stomach. 

I stepped out of the room and tore through the drawers. No wires, no bugs. Everything was in its place, like it always was, like it had been since I moved here.

I collapsed onto the couch and turned on the television, hoping that the news cycle would put me to sleep. A pretty face delivered a rousing report about something meaningless. A local politician made some promises he couldn’t keep on air. Police confirmed that the corpse found near the Crowchuck river belongs to alleged Capodano soldier Luciano Rossi.

I sat up to get a closer look at the television. Look at this poor fuck, I thought. Look at the spectacle they made out of his death. Don’t they give a shit about his family? What does his wife think about this? How about his kids, or his parents?

Yet even after the media circus dies, Rossi has people who are going to remember him for the person he was. He has people who miss him, who would trade anything to get him back. People who relied on him and loved him while he was alive. If it wasn’t for his greed, he could have made a long and happy life out of all of it. But now, it’s over.

I looked at the message I had drafted for Marcia. Within moments, it was gone, and I had typed out and sent another in its stead.

“i’ll make time 4 u, hang out soon?”


	8. Chapter 8

Another week passed. My employees behaved themselves, and work came in at the normal pace. That Wednesday, I finished my state and federal tax forms and sent them in to the agency. I wasn’t taking any chances with the IRS, those bastards will rob you for everything that you own if they don’t get their due.

I met with Marcia once more on the next Sunday, she seemed to enjoy the welcome she got from her new team. She mentioned that her new boss was a bit of an ass, but hopefully it would smooth over soon. I told a few more stories of my own from the shop.

I was still keen to avoid talking to her about Angelo, or my involvement in organized crime. There were still concerns about my own safety, of course, but I rationalized that if I stayed away from Capodano turf, they would leave me alone, dating Marcia or not. Hopefully. 

Even then, I wasn’t sure how or when I could bring my history up. You can’t just say, “Oh hey, by the way, I’m an ex-con that used to work for your dad.” Would she even want to associate with me after I told her? And if I’ve left that life behind me, does it even matter? I decided it was best to leave it be, at least for the near future.

On Monday, I rolled up to the garage to observe that Pete had shown up early. When I got close enough, I rolled down my window and called to him. 

“Yo, Pete!”

He jumped and swung his head in my direction, gray fur standing on end. “Jesus, you scared the crap out of me, boss.”

“You never show up early to work, what’s up?”

“Heh, you’re right. Say,” he stepped towards my car. “I know this is a huge favor, but could you spot me like 5 grand by tonight?”

Pete looked like a wreck, with bloodshot eyes and messy fur. Most rats were twitchy, but this was a new level, even for Pete. It seemed that when he wasn’t talking, he was either sniffing at the air or looking around for stray shadows. Did he come here high? 

“We’ll talk about this after work.” I parked my car and opened up shop, with the rat-man following close behind me.

Jerry wasn’t in today, and I could trust Eric to handle his actual work, if not to deal with customers. Because of this, I took care to watch Pete much more closely than I usually did.

As I expected, the rat-man’s work was of much lower quality than the standard I held, and he started to fall behind on his jobs. He would misplace tools and forget to tighten bolts on every single task I threw his way, to the point where I had to double-check everything I asked him to do. I didn’t want a customer to lose a tire while cruising down the freeway.

By lunch hour, I had had enough and pulled Pete inside my office. He looked like he could fall over unconscious at any second.

“I’ve had to check over and finish every single job you’ve done today. You almost created a short circuit in a customer’s ignition, and you forgot to tighten the bolts when reattaching a tire. How do you fuck up fixing a flat tire? What’s gotten into you, Pete?”

“Sorry, Boss. I’m just ahh… just not…” He started to nod off, so I shook him awake. 

“Are you fucking tweaking right now? Where did you get the balls to think you can service cars in my shop while you’re fucking high?”

The rat’s eyes shot open. “No! You know I wouldn’t do that, boss! I don’t light up before work. It’s just been really hard to focus on anything; I haven’t gotten any sleep in the past few days.”

“Well then, what made you think it was a good idea to come to work when you can barely stand on your fucking feet?” I glared at the rat as I struggled to keep my cool. “I’m sending you home. If you don’t think you can stay awake behind the wheel, take a nap for an hour or grab a coffee. Don’t come into my shop like this ever again.”

“All due respect, sir, my shift isn’t over, and I need-”

“You stopped paying me your due respect when you clocked in like this. You can barely keep your fucking eyes open. Go home before I make this little vacation permanent.”

“Don’t send me home, please! I need the money!” Pete shouted.

“That’s another thing. What in God’s name do you need with 5 grand?”

“I can’t say! If I do, it will only make things worse for everyone. Please, just front me the money, Mr. Manzarelli. You can take it out of my paycheck and everything, I’m good for it!”

I held my glare at the rat. “This is about that fucking car of yours, isn’t it? Let me guess, you borrowed from a loan shark and now you’re stuck in the deep end, drowning in debt.” The rat-man motioned for me to quiet down. “Why can’t you just ask your parents to help you?”

“My parents aren’t well off as is, they live paycheck to paycheck. I got the Mazerati to prove to my mom that I could do well for myself out in the world. I wanted them to be proud of me.”

“You think they’re going to be proud of you when you come home in a body bag? Grow the fuck up, Peter. The only person who cares about status symbols around here is you. Go home. If your creditors come to collect, tell them you’ll have it by Thursday evening, alright? Don’t mention me.”

Pete’s nose began to twitch more frequently, and his body trembled. “Thursday? Can’t you loan it to me any earlier?”

“I’m sorry, do like I look like an ATM to you? I’m going to have to spend my day off making sure that your fuck up doesn’t threaten my business. So yeah, I’ll loan you the money on Thursday.”

“They’ll kick the shit out of me if I don’t get them the cash! Please!”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you bought toys you couldn’t pay for. Now beat it.” I pointed towards the door. The rat-man left the room with his tail in between his legs, insecure about his future.

I called out to my remaining employee from the cluttered office, “Eric! We’re closing up late tonight!”

“Fuck!”

The next morning, Pete didn’t show up to work. A phone call from Jerry revealed that his creditors paid him a visit, and that he was currently at the hospital with a broken foot.

“I guess you called it,” said Jerry, hanging up the phone. “Dumbass used mob money to pay for the car.”

“I didn’t want to be right, Jerry. One of my mechanics is out of commission for a couple of days. It’s damaging to my bottom line. I’m the one paying for his fuck up.”

“Why didn’t you just give him the money when he asked to save yourself the trouble? Poor kid could have died out there. It was irresponsible.”

I gave him a look. “Spending beyond your means is irresponsible. And this was the worst-case scenario. If they killed Pete, who was going to pay them what they’re owed? Much better to rough him up, it’ll scare him into paying his debt on time.”

Jerry threw a disapproving look my way while opening up the garage door. I covered for Pete during the day. With all the customers we were getting, we could have used his help. He had to learn his lesson somehow, though.

Tuesday and Wednesday passed, and I reminded Jerry to open on Thursday. I knew there was only one person who could definitively put all of this to bed. I made sure to get my business clothes ready.

St. Germaine’s was just as unwelcoming on my second visit as it was on my first. Not even a familiar face behind reception made the process any more comfortable. At least this time they had a guard ready to guide me to the cell.

Angelo was quick to greet me. “Manza, wasn’t expecting you today! You watch the last Dragons game?”

I gave him a tight hug. “Yeah, Gemello can’t catch for shit. I have a favor to ask.”

“Everyone with the fuckin’ favors! What can I help you with?”

I explained the predicament with Pete to him. He scratched his chin and listened closely, writing down every important detail. 

“Do you know who these guys work for?” I asked.

“Loan sharks? Probably Ramone’s guys, but everyone dips their fingers in everything nowadays. I can’t tell you for sure unless I have names. What kinda favor did you want, Manza? You want me to erase this kid’s debt?”

“No, he borrowed money and he’s going to pay back what he owes. He asked me for 5 large, so I’m asking you to cap any debt to 5 and to leave him alone after this whole thing is finished. Let’s talk prices. Do you need anything from me?”

“I need you to go to my house and give my wife a kiss on the cheeks for me, tell her it’s from her guardian angel.” He smirked. “Pete’s debt will be capped, and I’ll trust you to handle the payments. I’ll sort everything out with the other party, no price. Consider it done.” We shook hands.

“Good to get that squared away. I gotta ask you something, Ange. You got a daughter?” I needed to gauge his reaction somehow without giving away too much. I couldn’t afford to compromise this mission.

“Yeah, I do, did you meet Marcia?” His eyes widened. “Did something happen to her?”

“I don’t think so. A Capodano came to my shop asking for a tire change, and I thought it was a funny coincidence that you two shared a name, so I asked if she knew you. Why didn’t you tell me you had a daughter?”

Angelo clasped his hands together. “I had her with my goomar, and I promised to never expose my little girl to this thing of ours. The older guys all knew, as well as anyone related to us by blood. I tried to keep it a secret from the younger generation because I didn’t want them trying anything with her. Who wants their daughter to get hitched to a criminal?”

I nodded.

Angelo got lost in thought for a few seconds. “Actually, that’s a good price for this favor. If you see her again, tell her to pay her old man a visit. We haven’t spoken since the indictment.”

“Of course.” We kissed each other on the cheeks and said our goodbyes. 

Next stop was my apartment. After doing a quick sweep for bugs, I grabbed 5,000 dollars from my safe and shoved it in my coat pocket. I checked twice to make sure the safe was locked after closing it. I made a call to Pete.

“Boss?”

“You out of the hospital yet?”

He sounded exhausted over the phone. “Yeah, they released me yesterday night. I’ve been trying to catch up on sleep so I recover sooner.”

“I’m coming to pick you up. If you can’t take care of this yourself, I need you to tell me who you owe.”

“Alright, you know where I live.” I could sense unease in his voice.

I picked him up from his apartment and drove him to the docks, where he said he first met his creditors. After about half an hour of searching, he pointed them out to me. Two human associates were smoking next to a shipping crate. I put the money in an envelope and reached into the glove compartment to grab my revolver.

“If anything goes south, grab the monkey wrench from the back seat. It’s no gun, but it’s better than nothing.”

I left the car with the gun concealed and approached the two associates. “Evening. I’m here to pay off a debt for Peter Sparazza.”

The shorter of the two put down his cigarette. “You’ve come to the right people. Casey and Louie Soldetto. Pete came to us so we could help him pay for-“

I cut him off with a hand wave. “Save the pleasantries. Here’s the money.” The associate frowned, while his brother accepted the envelope. I took a step back.

“Seems to be a misunderstanding here, bud,” said the taller mobster. “You’re short about 1 and a half large.”

“Get your eyes checked. There’s 5 there.”

The shorter one chuckled. “That’s funny. Louie, didn’t we tell Sparazza that we were going to charge 500 extra for each day his payment was late? Seems like he’s trying to skimp out on us again. I'd hate to shoot the messenger, but...” They both started to approach me.

I reached into my coat and grabbed my revolver by the handle, keeping it concealed from view. “Try your luck. Take another step forward, and in 5 seconds you’ll both be meeting a different Peter.” Both men backed off. “You think this is some kind of game, punk?” spat Casey. “Who do you think we work for?”

“These are Ramone’s docks, right? Angelo’s got a message for him and you two. Pete Sparazza is off-limits. You’re lucky you got that much back.”

Louie glared at me, but Casey pulled him back, trying to reason with him. “If he’s right, and something happens to him, we’re fucked. We broke even on Sparazza, let’s just leave it alone.” The two slinked away behind the shipping crate. 

Pete greeted me upon my return to the Toyota. “That looked like it was about to get ugly. Glad it’s over.”

“It’s not over for you. I’m docking 250 out of each of your paychecks until this 5,000 is paid off in full.” The rat-man deflated. “I had to pull strings for you, Pete. You’re lucky I have connections. You didn’t see me do anything tonight, is that clear?”

“Crystal, Boss.”

“Good. One more thing. If you need money, get a loan from a bank or use a credit card.” Pete nodded. “These mob guys, they don’t quit until someone bigger tells them to. They’ll do crazy shit to you to get you to pay. And if they know you aren’t good for it, they’ll axe you. I don’t want to see you dealing with any of them after today, okay?”

“Alright, Mr. Manzarelli. I won’t take any more shady loans, and I’ll try to be more careful with my spending. I’m sorry for putting you through this mess.”

“I’m just glad you made it out in one piece and learned something from it. You gotta use that head of yours.” I rubbed the back of his head. “We’ve both had a long day. You want to go grab dinner?”


	9. Chapter 9

January passed and February came, and with it came more snow. At this point in the season, most people already had their snow tires on, so our work started to thin out. Perfect timing too, considering that Pete was out of commission for at least the rest of the month. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss the kid, but at least I knew he’d be coming back.

Frankly, it was impossible to work around Marcia’s schedule. There was always work she need to catch up on, or a meeting that was scheduled at the worst possible time. She mentioned a state-of-the-art cooling mechanism for a generator or something, but truth be told that stuff was way over my head. She finally had the time to call back on the first Thursday of the month.

“Hey, Dom! Sorry this week has been such a mess.” It made me happy to hear her in good spirits.

“Marcy! What’s up?”

“Are you free this Sunday? I’ve finally caught up with my work, and I wanted to hang.”

“Sure,” I said. “You wanna meet up at Coffee King again?”

“Actually, I figured we could pay a visit the waterfront. A change of scenery would be nice; you know? And I heard the weather was going to clear on the 8th, so I wanted to get outside while we can.”

“It’s February, isn’t everything closed?”

“There are a lot of really cool areas close to the amusement park, secrets only a few people know about. Trust me, it’s worth it.”

“My fence-hopping days are far behind me Marcia, if I-”

“You won’t have to climb anything!” she interrupted. “Trust me!”

After a pause, I spoke. “OK. Do you want me to bring anything? Water, snacks…”

“If you have a good camera, bring that. I’ve been begging Kim to help me take pictures here for years and she refuses to come along.”

This was one of those types of dates, I thought. I rolled my eyes. Still beat doing nothing alone, though. “I’ll make sure my phone is charged. We’ll meet at Wendell’s Ice Cream Parlor at 12:30, unless you want me to pick you up?”

“Only if you’re offering. I’ll text you my address right now, ok?”

My phone pinged after a few seconds.

“Also, an ice cream parlor? In the middle of February?” she mocked.

“It was the first thing I could think of, cut me some slack.”

I woke myself up on Sunday with an early morning shower and shave. I picked out a nice pair of slacks and a dress shirt and ironed out any wrinkles I found. With too much time to kill, I figured it would be nice to catch the sunrise. The fire escape was pretty filthy, so I threw a blanket over it and sat down. The sun shone brilliantly as it peaked above the horizon, painting the eastern sky in bright orange and red. Twinriver’s famous skyline cut a jagged boundary between the sky and earth.

After bringing the now rust-stained blanket back inside, I made myself some pancakes and a few fried eggs on the griddle. I munched away on the couch while watching the reruns of an ancient sitcom. Was this shit even funny when it aired? At least I could laugh at it for how corny it was. I blew through 6 episodes before my alarm went off to pick up my date.

I got into my car and punched Marcy’s address into my phone, which quickly calculated a route to a house out in Pull’s Point. 

The buildings around me shrank from run-down high-rise projects, to flats and multifamily housing, to smaller one-family homes. Litter-laden, barren gardens and cracked concrete morphed into well-maintained hedges and neat, professionally-plowed driveways. Pull’s Point was damned near the opposite of Twinriver proper, and yet it was only 40 minutes away by car.

I parked in front of the address Marcy gave me, and rang her cell phone. The house was smaller than its neighbors, standing at only one floor, and was painted with a yellowish beige. She only had one car in her driveway, a blue Honda Accord.

I heard her pick up. “You here?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m pulled up in front.”

“Alright, I’m coming out now.”

The door opened, and out walked my companion for this afternoon. Marcy wore in a white sweater and black jeans with a scarf around her neck. Only her head was uncovered, leaving her face and ears exposed to the elements, save for her fur. She gave me a smile as she opened the door and took the passenger seat.

“You sure you don’t want to grab a hat or something? It’s cold out.”

“You’re not wearing one, and you’re less covered than me.” she countered. “It’s 45 degrees, I think I’ll be fine.”

“Won’t your ears get cold?”

She patted her ears with both hands. “I’ve got fur; it keeps them warm enough. Do you want me to fold them close to my head with my scarf? We can pretend you’re taking your nonna out for a walk.”

“My nonna? She wasn’t that hairy.” I chuckled. “I think you could pull that look off. You just need a good pair of shades and you’d look like a movie star at a public function. And I’m not just blowing smoke.” I winked at her.

I could catch a hint of red underneath her fur as she turned to look out of the window. “Do you ever miss a chance to flirt?”

“It’s against my code of ethics to let one go to waste.”

I tapped in the address for Wendell’s, and the machine generated a route that mostly matched the one I took to get here, save for an extra 7 minutes getting to the waterfront. I put on the Horses of War album on the way there, a classic Steed record. We alternated between conversation and listening to the music for about 20 minutes. 

She had been singing along to a few of the earlier tracks, but when the 6th song on the album started to play, “Raining in Heaven”, her face looked ill. Her eyes widened, and she gripped hard onto the door handle.

“Can we skip this song?” she asked me.

“Not a big fan of the solo? I’ll turn it down if you want.”

Her hand grasped my arm as she begged. “Please.”

I quickly switched to an FM radio station, which had been playing a new R&B single. Marcy took a few deep breaths, then uttered a quiet “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem. Do you want me to pull over?”

“No, we can keep going. I just didn’t realize that song was on this album.”

“Pardon?” I gave her a quick glance.

She started to fidget with her hands. “My dad used to play ‘Raining in Heaven’ in the car, every morning he dropped me off at school until I graduated. When we went out to grab breakfast at the diner together, he would always play that one at least once.” Her breathing started to tighten. “He was playing that song when he got arrested. I haven’t been able to listen to it since.”

I took note not to play that one again. “Sorry I dug that up.”

“It’s not your fault, Dom, you had no idea.”

With the conversation at a lull, I figured it was a good time to fulfill my end of the bargain with Angelo. “I know it’s not my business, but do you ever miss your dad?”

“Of course I do!” she blurted. “I haven’t seen him in years. We were really close before all of this.”

“Have you ever thought about visiting him in prison?”

“I thought about doing it a couple times when he first got arrested, but then I found out what he was charged with. Racketeering, drug trafficking, conspiracy to commit murder? He could have gotten the death penalty in another state, Dominic!” She turned to me. “I always knew that my dad had some shady dealings on the side, but I never realized what he was truly capable of. I can’t look at him the same way I did when I was younger, knowing what I know now. How he ruined the lives of so many innocent people. How he betrayed the same principles he taught me to follow.”

“He’s still your father, and it seems like he did the best he could raising you. Maybe he’s hurt a lot of people, but has he ever hurt you?” I suggested.

Marcy raised her voice. “Do you know how much it eats away at my conscience, knowing most of my life was funded by blood money? How much of an embarrassment it was to my mother and I when he pleaded guilty to keep his cronies out of jail? Almost everyone who knows me keeps their distance because they don’t want to risk pissing off the daughter of Don Angelo.” She started to sob. “I’ve done years of community service with the church, in the hope that maybe I can give back some of what he’s taken from the community. I’m not some ignorant fucking mafia princess. I don’t want to associate with him.”

Angelo wasn’t a saint, but he gave back plenty to the community. One only needed to look at how much he donated to the soup kitchen over the last ten years to see that. I wanted to defend my friend, but I couldn’t afford to blow my cover, so I conceded. “I didn’t realize any of that. I won’t bring it up again.” Trying to calm her down, I put a hand on her shoulder.

“I love my father, Dom, but I can’t forgive him.”

We sat in silence for a few more minutes, the conversation staying light for the rest of the trip. With how things were going so far, I didn’t want to stir the pot too much, so we kept it to small talk until we arrived at the waterfront. 

I pulled into the Wendell’s parking lot and looked around. Almost every building was boarded up for the season. Nobody else was around, and the only sounds that could be heard were the crowing of the gulls and the crashing of waves against wood. It felt like a ghost town.

Marcy was right about the weather, at least. The sky was a clear bright blue with not a cloud in sight, and there was only a slight breeze on the boardwalk.

I took the rat-girl by the hand and helped her out of the car. “You made a good call, it’s the perfect day for a walk.”

“I saw that the weather was going to be good and pounced on the opportunity,” she responded. “Now, follow me, there’s an easy way to get into the park that’s blind to the cameras.”

She led me towards the amusement park, but made a sharp right when she reached the entrance. We walked around to one of the corners of the chain-link fence that enclosed the perimeter. Marcy tried to pry the fence open, but couldn’t hold it in place. “Help me out, Dom!” 

“No way this is legal.” I stated, as I pulled the fence loose enough for us to get through. After we had gotten ourselves through, I pulled it back into place. Last thing I wanted at that moment was to get in some kind of tussle with security. “Are you sure nobody’s gonna come after us?”

“The cops who work by the waterfront make themselves busy elsewhere at this time of year. As long as we don’t try to operate any of the rides on our own, we won’t have any trouble. Although, if you wanted to, I’d be the girl to call.” She pointed towards the Ferris wheel. “I used to keep that running as a summer job.”

“Really?” I remembered dropping Angelo off here once or twice, guess this was why.

She smiled. “Really. Management didn’t want rat-folk working at the concession, so the few they did hire were told to operate the rides. It was a lot of fun.”

“They wouldn’t let you work concession?”

The rat-girl waved her hand. “Not like I wanted to either. I had the choice to wear a long sleeve shirt and a mask along with the official hat, or a full-body hairnet.”

I snorted. “A full-body hairnet. Now that’s a visual.”

“Come to the soup kitchen with me someday, you’ll get to see me in one.” She ran over to the front of the Ferris wheel. “Can you snap a picture of me over here? This ride’s kinda special to me, and I’ve been meaning to take one here for a while.”

I pulled out my phone and took a few steps back to get more of the ride into frame. “What do you want from the shot?”

“Just trust your instincts, Dom. You’ll make me look pretty, right?” She batted her eyelashes at me.

I didn’t have instincts to speak of when it came to photography. It wasn’t a desirable skill in any of my lines of work, and I had no real interest in it otherwise. Still, I wanted to make sure she had a few good pictures to work with, so I gave it my all. The first few came out amateurish and blurry, but after playing around with my phone and getting different angles, I was able to take couple that were worth keeping. 

Marcy started cutting loose after we finished up at the Ferris wheel, giving me more interesting and active poses as she got more comfortable. I got a shot of her stretching out in one of the teacups that came out beautiful.

After I had taken close to 50 pictures, we sat down and sorted through them to determine which ones were keepers.

“I think that one really captures my good side, what do you think?” she asked.

“Both of your sides are good sides.” I stated, swiping to the next photo. “I caught you sneezing in this one.”

“I thought you got rid of that one already, you said you deleted it!” 

I held my phone away from her as she tried to grab it from my hands. “I couldn’t get rid of it! It captures your good side!”

We settled on about 15 of the pictures I took, which I sent to her by text. “What do you need all of these pictures for anyway, Marcy?”

“Gotta appreciate my beauty while I have it, what happens when I’m older and these looks fade?” I gave her an incredulous look, and she stood her ground. “I’m young and pretty, is it such a sin to revel in it every once in a while?”

“Vanity is a sin,” I replied. “At least it was the last time I cracked open the good book.”

“Boohoo. Well, if I have to do penance for this, you’re keeping me company.” Marcy pointed towards an exposed part of the fence. “Pose over there for me. I want to get a few good pictures of you, too.”

“Only because you asked so nicely.” She took a few shots of me, two with my hands in my pocket and one of me pointing at the camera.

“Almost done, Dom, unless you want to take a few more somewhere else?”

“Let’s check out the ones you took first.” I took the phone from her and inspected each one. “Madonn’, I’m out of shape. You couldn’t get a better angle for these?”

“Don’t be a diva. I like bigger guys, and these pictures make you look great.” She put her hand on my shoulder and gave me a coy smile. “There’s one more place I need to show you. Follow me.”

The rat-girl took my hand and led me behind the concession stand. There, she pulled up a few loose planks from the boardwalk, revealing an opening big enough to crawl under. She hopped in and started inching her way towards the shore. Curious, I followed her, lowering and dragging myself through the sand until I reached the clearing.

Together, we sat down, watching the waves crash against the support beams. The boardwalk above provided shade, allowing the sun to pierce only a few small cracks. I could smell the brine in the air, and see crabs and minnows darting around in the tide-pools near the water’s edge.

Marcia spoke. “I found this area one day while I was working and spent my lunch breaks here watching the waves. Sometimes teenagers sneak down here to light up or couples to get some privacy, but during the winter it’s almost always empty.”

“It’s really serene. Thank you for showing me this.” I replied.

“We can stay down here for as long as you want, but I wanted to get a picture of us together before we left, and this is the best place I know to take it.”

We brought ourselves next to each other, fumbling around to get both our faces in frame. We settled with my arm around her waist and hers around my shoulder. Marcy took the picture with her free hand.

After sending the picture to me, she snuggled closer into my side. I could smell a hint of flowers in her fur, and felt her tail wrap around my leg. We laid there together for what must have been an hour, just taking in the sounds of the sea, relaxing in each other’s warmth and company.

“Hey, Dominic, are you happy with the way you live your life?”

“You mean like my career?” The Auto-Shop was just a gambit that ended up paying off, at least with my inability to pass a thorough background check. I shrugged. “I’m satisfied with where I am. I make good money and don’t have to worry about a shit-heel boss.”

Marcy sat up. “Not just your career, other stuff. Like your social life, spirituality, hobbies, all that jazz. I know you love your music, and you dedicate a lot of time to your business, but do you have any personal goals?”

“Where is this coming from?”

“I don’t know. I just feel like I’m always talking your ear off about something, so I want to know a little bit more about you.”

As I struggled to respond to the question, it hit me how pathetic my real answers were. I hadn’t stepped foot in a church for more than 3 years, and even that was for a funeral. Hobbies? Watching the Dragons, and visiting the firing range once a month.

My social life was probably the saddest of all. Most of the network I had in my old life was gone, the price I paid to stay out of the eye of the feds. The guys at the auto-shop were nice enough, but Eric and Pete were both more than 10 years younger than me, and Jerry already had a kid. And my best friend, the only personal relationship I could salvage from my misspent youth? In the slammer for the rest of his life. What the fuck was I doing with my life?

“Earth to Dom, you there?” Marcy started to wave a hand in front of my eyes.

“Did I zone out? Sorry.” I swallowed a bit of air. “Can I be honest with you, Marcy?” 

She nodded yes.

“I’ve been living life on autopilot for a while. I haven’t been to church for years. The only social outlet I have right now is the Auto-Shop. I’ve outgrown most of my friends from high school and college, and a lot of the time I work myself to the bone just to fall asleep. I’m kind of a mess.”

Marcy’s eyes widened as I told my story. “Jeez, Dom, I didn’t strike a nerve or anything, did I?”

I shook my head. “No, you’re fine. If anything, it was a wake-up call.”

Relieved, she continued. “I’m glad you’re comfortable enough to talk to me about something like this. It can be tough to admit you’re a mess. Most of your stuff is a pretty easy fix, too. Put yourself out there more and find stuff you like to do in your free time,” She came in closer to snuggle. “I’m just as much of a mess. I had that outburst in the car over that stupid song. I won’t even speak to the man who helped raise me from birth. And this is the first time I’ve ever gotten a second date.”

“It’s okay to have a few hang-ups, but if you want to move past them, I’m happy to help you try. If you’re willing to return the favor.”

She smiled. “I’d like that.”

All good things come to an end, and Marcy remembered another cool area on the waterfront she wanted to visit. She crawled back to the loose planks and called for me to follow her.

“Come on, Dom! There’s an amazing view of the skyline from the pier, don’t you want to check it out?”

“I’ll catch up to you in a minute!” I called back. I pulled out my phone and looked at the photo she had sent me earlier, the one we took together. 

It was a well-composed shot, getting us both in frame with a nice amount of contrast, but what stood out to me was the emotion that the image captured, both hers and my own. I had maintained a neutral expression in all of the previous shots, keeping my feelings hidden from the petrifying flash of the camera. Here I was, though, with a genuine ear-to-ear smile, next to her.

And her? Her smile was the sun, dazzling, beaming and warm. I could feel her joy when I looked in her eyes. It was inspiring.

“You almost done down there?”

“Coming, Marcy!” I quickly saved the photo into my phone’s gallery and shoved it into my pocket, leaving the shore the way I came in to reunite with my date.

She was waiting for me when I got back on to the boardwalk, concern written on her face. “What took you so long? I was starting to think something happened to you.”

“I was just looking at the photos you sent me. How did you make them come out this nice?”

“I did some amateur stuff in college and it let me pick up a few tricks. I’m glad you like them, but we have a few more to take.”

We spent another half an hour taking pictures around the boardwalk before we agreed it was about time to wrap things up. She kept my hand held tight as we walked back to my car. The ride back was pleasant, we mostly small talk about current events. I pulled into her driveway, and she brushed my arm with her tail as she left the car.

I called out after her when she got to her front door. “Hey, Marcy, you free on Valentine’s?”

She stopped fumbling with her keys and turned back to me. “That’s Saturday, right? Yeah, I’m off. You have anything in mind?”

“I want to treat you. Do you want to go grab dinner at a fancy restaurant?” 

The rat-girl smiled. “I’d love that. We can work out plans over the phone. See you then, Dominic.” Her tail swished behind her as she shut the door. The cruder part of me admitted that as much as I hated to see her leave, I loved to watch her go. The way she walked back was almost hypnotic, and it was on my mind a good portion of the drive home.

My feelings for that sweet little rat-girl ran much deeper than mere lust, though. Just thinking about her smile after that day could make me feel warm. Looking back, I think it was under that boardwalk that I fell in love with the daughter of the Don.


	10. Chapter 10

Nothing out of the ordinary happened during the work week. I let both Eric and Jerry know that they had a paid day off on Saturday, which they both seemed to appreciate. Jerry mentioned taking his wife to the movies, while Eric seemed more excited to trawl the bars for lonely women.

As a group, we decided to visit Pete on Wednesday, dropping off a box of cannoli from the best bakery in town. Jerry offered him a bottle of wine too, but he declined, saying didn’t want to mix it with the meds he was taking. Pete told me he should be ready to come back to work on the 9th of March, which he seemed excited about after being stuck in the house for a while. After catching a couple of basketball games, we gave him back his apartment.

Almost every couple in Twinriver must have had the same plans for Valentine’s Day as myself, because I couldn’t get a reservation anywhere I called. Every reputable restaurant within an hour drive was completely booked. I cursed myself for not calling in sooner. 

When I called her to break the bad news, Marcy didn’t seem to mind at all. “Dom, it’s not the end of the world. We can order a pizza at my house and take it easy for the night.”

My face burned with embarrassment. “On any other weekend, maybe. We’re not ordering a pizza on Valentine’s Day, you deserve better than that.”

“We’ve only just started dating,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting you to break bank.”

“I can’t stand the precedent it sets. The last thing I’d want is for you to see me as some kind of cheap-ass.” Realizing I didn’t have any back-up plan if I couldn’t get a reservation, I improvised. “If nobody makes a cancellation by tomorrow, I’ll cook a homemade meal or something and bring it over to your place, and we can have a nice dinner there. We’re not doing pizza.”

The phone went silent for a few seconds, eventually chirping back with “Good idea, but I have a better one. Why don’t we make dinner together?”

“I can’t make you do that, Marcy, you’re already hosting.”

“I understand that you’re trying to play the gentleman, Dom, and it’s really sweet, but the formalities aren’t really a concern to me. We get to spend more time with each other this way, and that’s more important in my eyes. What do you say?”

“I suppose I can work with that.” I said. If it came down to it, I could always get her a card or a small gift to make up for it. “Either way, I’ll see you on Saturday.”

With my piss-poor luck, there were no cancellations in any of the restaurant I called. By Friday evening, I had given up, and texted Marcy that I would meet her at 3 on Saturday.

The biggest question on my mind was what we were going to cook. I dragged out a dusty old chest from my closet and, with a deep breath, opened it for the first time in more than a decade. Inside was everything I had left of my parents. My mother’s personal cook book, my father’s favorite baseball, a bible written in Italian, a scrapbook of photos aging from long before I was born to my 15th birthday, my mother’s wedding dress, and their marital bands. 

I opened the scrapbook for a second, flipping to the page that held the picture of my confirmation. We were standing inside St. Dominic’s, the church we used to attend every Sunday. My father wore broad smile, almost tearing up with joy, kneeling down to my level and hugging me at the waist. My mother maintained a neutral look with a hand on my shoulder, an expression that seemed cold to someone unfamiliar, but one I knew as pride. 

What would my parents think of the person I was now? “Disgraziato,” they would say.

It couldn’t be helped, so I put the scrapbook back into the chest and grabbed the cookbook I came here for, turning to my mama’s lasagna recipe. Giovanna Manzarelli’s love for her family always shined through in her cooking. It didn’t hurt that she was a professional. She had a talent for figuring out which flavors complemented each other, and I remembered that she tried to make every dinner unique.

Hoping to tap in to some of that talent, I read the recipe over and took a picture of it. My mother had left notes in the margins for changing up ingredients depending on who you’re serving to. One read: “Benny likes a more savory flavor from his lasagna than Dominic does. Try to put more ground beef and mushrooms on one side and more sweet sausage on the other.”

I teared up a little from that.

After getting the thumbs up from Marcia, I put the chest back into the closet. I spent an hour catching up on the news, brushed my teeth and hit the hay. I woke up with a sore back. Piece of shit mattress.

I looked into my closet and saw my striped suit on the far left. Someday I was going to have to tell her about my past, but that day wasn’t today. I didn’t want to risk doing anything to ruin our time together.

A black jacket and pants combo called out to me from the other side of the closet. I painstakingly ironed out each piece of clothing until not a wrinkle could be found. Marcy deserved the best I could give her.

I jumped into my car and got to her house right on time, and found her waiting on her doorstep dressed in a grey blazer and blouse with darker pants. The outfit revealed the white fur on her chest, an extension of the patch that started on her chin. She strode towards the car with confidence as she sat down in the passenger seat.

“Where’d you get that outfit?” I asked, slack jawed.

“The blazer belonged to my mom, but it doesn’t fit her anymore, so she gave it to me. The rest I got on sale. Crazy, right?”

“Crazy indeed, you look incredible!”

“I was just trying to match your energy.” The rat-girl winked. “I know you really wanted something formal for tonight, so I figured you’d appreciate it if I looked the part.”

“You hit it out of the ballpark.” I said as I pulled out of the driveway.

The drive to Bernadetta’s Italian Market was fairly short, about 15 minutes back the way I came. Marcy seemed puzzled as we passed a different supermarket on the way there. “Dom, where are we going?”

“I want to make sure that tonight is special, and Bernadetta’s has quality ingredients. It’s only like 4 more miles in this direction.” I said. 

We parked into a crowded lot and grabbed a cart on our way in.

“They sell really good desserts here too. Do you want to pick one out?”

“What do they got? Do they have tiramisu?”

“Why don’t you check out the bakery for something you like while I go pick up the ingredients we need for the main course?”

“Awesome! I’ll pay for dessert and meet you back here in the front of the store, okay?”

Bernadetta’s was a lot like any other supermarket, save for the frankly beautiful overabundance of all things Italian. Pasta, fresh vegetables, cheeses, wine, cold cuts, and all sorts of sweets of great quality were in stock. I saw many a customer purchasing last minute gifts for their lovers and spouses. I pointed Marcy towards the bakery, then split off from her.

Grabbing a cart, I picked up every ingredient on Mama’s list, as well as some green bell peppers to make the sauce a bit sweeter. It only took a couple of minutes to collect everything. 

Along the way I found a cute looking card that I thought would get a laugh out of Marcy, so I threw it into the cart. I put it in the envelope to keep it a surprise in case she saw it.

After double checking to make sure I picked out everything I needed for the recipe, I returned to the front of the store to meet with Marcy but couldn’t find her anywhere. She’s probably in the bakery still, I thought. I should meet her there.

I found my companion standing alone in the bakery, staring at one of the workers at the register. Her free hand was clenched into a fist and her mouth was shut tight with a frown.

I reached out to touch her on the shoulder. “Marcy, you ok?”

“I’m fine,” she said brushing my hand away. “It’s that prick over there. When I went to buy the dessert, he pulled me out of the line and said he caught me shoplifting. He told me to empty my pockets like I was some shady teenager. He embarrassed me in front of all those people!”

“Did he? I’ll take care of it.” I said. “I think I know that kid, one of my friend’s brothers. I can sort this out. I forgot to grab red wine, can you go back and get a bottle for me?”

She looked over at the cashier again, then grabbed the cart. “Alright.”

I waited until she was no longer in my line of sight before approaching the register. “Alright, buddy. Tell me why you felt the need to humiliate my girlfriend in front of half of the store.”

In a robotic tone, he replied “It’s store policy to interrogate customers suspected of shoplifting, sir. If you want to buy anything, you need to go to the back of the line. Other people are checking out, and they’ve been waiting longer than you have.”

I heard the muttering of dissatisfied customers from behind me, as well as the tapping of feet, but chose to ignore it.

“Did she really look suspect to you?” I took a few steps forward, until I was about 10 feet away. “Or did you just want to go on a little power trip? Did ruining her day make you feel good about yourself?” 

The smugness disappeared from his voice. “Do I have to call security?” He raised his voice as he picked up the phone at his station. There was a slight tremor in his hands.

“Relax. I don’t plan on starting nothing. Tell me.” I leaned in to read his name tag. “Carmelo, do you like your job?”

His eyes narrowed, and a smirk returned to his face. “You think you can get me fired, jerkoff? My aunt owns this store; you can’t touch me.”

I feigned surprise. “Really, now? It’s great to have a lucky connection like that, especially for one of your first jobs.”

“People got places to be, asshole!” said an older gentleman.

“Give me a minute.” I called back. “Can I tell you a story, Carmelo? My mother used to work as a cook for a real fancy restaurant. There was this couple that would go there to eat there for their anniversary, their birthdays, and Mother’s Day. We lived in the same neighborhood, so I played ball with their kid every weekend.”

“One day, me and this kid get into a fight about something stupid. It doesn’t matter what it was, but naturally it got back to my mother through the parents. Do you know what my mother did to me when she found out, Carmelo?” Silence. I raised my hand as high as I could and chopped into my other palm. “She beat my ass so fuckin’ hard, I couldn’t sit down for three days.”

“Why are you telling me this?” the cashier asked, furrowing his brow. “Why are you wasting my time with this nothing story?”

“Look at all the commotion you’ve made, just because you wanted pick on somebody. What would your dear auntie and parents say and do when they find out that you’ve been running that fuckin’ mouth of yours? That you’ve been losing them customers?”

The cashier started to look around, possibly hoping for someone to come to his defense. I brought my voice to a whisper and stepped in 5 feet away. “When you ring up my girlfriend and I, you’re going to apologize to her for making her look like a delinquent in front of everybody here. You’re giving us a discount for the trouble you’ve caused, and you’re going to keep your mouth shut. Then we both forget this happened, capisce?”

I got a nod, so I left him to finish up checking out rest of the customers.

“Fanabol, you cocksucker,” grumbled the older gentleman as I went to the back of the line.

“Relax, I’m done.”

Marcia returned a few minutes later with the cart and a bottle of Pinot. “This good?”

“Perfect, thanks.” I gave her a smile. “Probably should have asked this before, but do you drink?”

“Only on special occasion. My mom started to let me drink wine at family gatherings after I got confirmed, but we had a few wild drunks in the family so I never really got too overzealous with it. You?”

“Same, but I started doing it more in college. Would you consider tonight a special occasion?”

I got a slight blush and smile. “We’ll see where it goes.”

When we reached the front of the line, Carmelo apologized to my partner, wordlessly bagged all of our items, then applied his employee discount to the transaction, saving us 15%. I wheeled our stuff through the parking lot and moved everything into the trunk while Marcy got into the passenger seat.

Through all of this, she stayed silent too, only speaking up when I started the car.

“Are we going to talk about what happened with the cashier, Dom?”

“What about him?” I asked.

“Not about him, about you. You didn’t know that kid, and you sent me away so you could get aggressive with him.” She was looking at me with an expression I couldn’t place.

I checked my mirror and pulled out of the parking spot. “I did. He challenged your honesty and honor as a person. He didn’t even have a good reason for it. Fat chance I’d let the little slimeball get away with it.”

“Did you threaten him?” There was an accusatory note in her voice.

“Physically?” I scoffed. “Of course not. I just threatened to make a complaint with his manager. Shut him up real quick. He might be a stupid asshole, but a kid is still a kid, and I would never stoop so low.”

“That’s a relief.” The rat-girl started to settle more comfortably into her seat. “I thought I’d be used to it by now. I’ve gotten interrogated by dozens of convenience store employees and mall cops in my teenage years. They never found anything on me, because I don’t steal. It’s like they see the tail and they instantly think I’m some kind of thief. It does a number on your self-esteem, y’know?”

Considering my own history, the irony wasn’t lost on me that she was the one who got profiled. “I don’t know, Marcy. I can imagine how degrading it is to experience that when you did no wrong, but I’ll never know what it’s like to be on your end of things. If it means anything to you though, it’s their loss.”

“Huh?”

I explained myself further. “It sucks for them that they made a rash judgement about you, and didn’t get to know you better. I know I’m glad I met you.”

I felt her coil her tail around my leg a little. “You always say the sweetest things. Thanks for that,” she said, “and for standing up for me in there. Not many people have the balls to do what you did.” I glanced toward the passenger seat to see her smiling at me. “Also, girlfriend?”

“Oh shit. You heard that?” I shook my head. 

“Of course I did. These radar dishes can hear everything.” She pointed to her ears.

“I needed to say something to defend you, and I wasn’t sure what we were. That was the first thing that came to mind.”

“Is that how you think of us, Dom? Boyfriend and girlfriend?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I just figured neither of us were seeing anybody else, and we’ve been on a couple dates. It sounded right. I haven’t been in a real relationship in years. I told you I didn’t want to rush anything, so I get it if you think it’s too soon.”

She put her hand on my shoulder. “It’s new ground for me, but if you want to jump head-first into this, I will too. Honestly, I kinda like it.”

We got back to Marcia’s house a few minutes later, her running ahead of me to unlock the door while I slipped the envelope into my driver-side door. Both of us grabbed as much as we could at once and put it all on the counter. After a second trip, with the box of noodles and the wine in hand, I slammed the trunk closed and went back inside.

“I think that’s everything, Marcy.”

“Great. Leave your shoes by the door and make yourself at home.”

Marcy’s kitchen was painted white with checkered tile covering the floor. From her walls hung framed photos of various points in her life, including one that featured both her and a girl who looked like Kim in soccer uniform. Her smile was augmented by braces in the photo, not really surprising for rat-folk. Those teeth can be a nightmare to manage properly from what I’ve heard. Another photo featured Marcy in a cap and gown next to an older rat-woman with solid brown fur. That had to be her mother, I thought. 

A heavily notated calendar was pinned to the fridge. All of her work days were outlined with a green square, and both today and last Sunday were marked with little pink hearts.

The rat-girl was working the stove, cutting up and frying the meat on a pan. “Do you have a recipe? Or are we finding one online and improvising the rest?”

“I dug out Mama’s old cookbook. She was a professional, and she wrote down everything she knew about her craft, especially where it concerned me and Papa.”

“Bringing out a family recipe? You really are trying to impress me. Kitchen’s yours, Chef Gusteau.” She stepped out of the way and gestured towards the stove.

“Chef Boyardee would be more apt, even the best recipe is still just a recipe. Right now I need to cut the onions and peppers, so if you can keep an eye on the meat while I’m doing that, I would appreciate it.”

Marcy did as I asked while I cut up the vegetables. She finished browning and draining the meat, handing over the pan when it was time to make the meat sauce. I poured in some plain marinara, mixing it in with the chopped vegetables and meat, and added some wine and tomato paste for flavor. My partner got the ricotta, mozzarella and parmesan ready while I let the sauce simmer. We built our lasagna with a layer of noodles, meat sauce and cheese respectively 3 times, making sure each layer covered as much as possible. Then we threw it in the oven.

“God, it smells good.” whispered Marcia, eyes glued to the viewing window of the oven. “When do you think it’ll be ready?”

“Figure an hour, around 5:30. It’s thirty to cook, then we need to wait for it to cool. What do you figure we do in the mean time?”

The rat-girl raised the open bottle in both hands. “We can get a head start on this, if you want. I have a deck of a cards in the drawer, you ever played Spit?”

“I know the rules.” I also remembered winning quite a bit of money from my old captain Rico Tortora over Spit while I was still active in our thing. Schmuck never knew when to quit. “I used to play at my old job. Heads up, I’m pretty good at it.”

“I think you’ll find that 'pretty good' isn’t good enough when you’re against a master,” she said with a competitive glint in her eye. “I’m gonna mop the floor with you.” She split the deck in half and handed me one of the halves. Then, she set up her own side of the table at a very careful pace. “Flip.”

This was going to be a piece of cake, I thought, as I flipped the top card of the stack.

Marcy’s hands were like lightning, placing card after card down in quick succession. I must have only gotten through half of my cards before I heard a thud against the table. Her hand was covering the smaller pile of cards, and she was staring at me with a full shit-eating grin.

“No way you played all of your cards,” I said. “Let me count the pile.” She raised her hands to give me a better view of the table. 23 cards were played between the both of us with 7 more cards on my side. “Who the hell taught you to play this fast?”

She took back her cards and shuffled them, showing little hint of emotion. “When your papa is Angelo Capodano, you learn fast or lose faster.”

Angelo? Always thought he was more of a Poker guy, but I don’t think I ever sat down against him in spit. I should bring a deck of cards for the next visit, I thought.

“Ready for the next round?” asked Marcy. “Or do you want to quit while I’m ahead, and not leagues ahead?”

I grabbed the bottle and poured myself a glass of wine. “I can bring it back. Just you watch.”

I couldn’t bring it back. In about an hour, I had managed to thoroughly lose 3 full games of Spit. I paid my full attention to all of them, too, only getting up to bring the lasagna out of the oven after the second game. My opponent took every chance to push my buttons, goading me with trash talk between each round. I only lost cards in about 5 of the rounds we played, and two of those were because Marcy slapped the wrong pile.

“I think that game only lasted like 6 rounds, you getting tired or something?” She stuck her chin up. “Sorry that your reflexes aren’t what they used to be, geezer.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m just rusty, is all. I was almost keeping up to your pace in those last few rounds. Next game won’t be so easy for you.”

“Can it wait until after dinner? Kicking your ass is making me hungry.”

I stood up and cut two pieces of lasagna for the both of us, putting each on plates from her cupboard. Each plate featured a design of a mouse chasing a piece of cheese along its edge. A little on the nose, I thought. Marcy poured us each another glass of wine and grabbed us silverware from the drawer. We set the table and raised our glasses to the air for a toast.

“Salud!”

Marcy’s eyes brightened with the first taste of Mama’s lasagna. “She was a professional cook? Christ!” She started shoveling it into her mouth.

“We have a whole tray of that stuff and it isn’t going anywhere. You’ll appreciate it a lot more if you slow down.”

She looked up. “It beats my mom’s recipe by a wide margin. How many more recipes of hers do you have?”

With some hesitation, I said “We can go through the book someday if you like, but eating her stuff too much is an easy way to pack on pounds. Mama put a lot of variations on her recipes though, so if we want to prepare everything, it’s gonna take a while.”

“We’re definitely making this again, though.”

For a dish that takes at least an hour to prepare, it’s amazing how lasagna can disappear within seconds. The cheese was blended perfectly, the homemade meat sauce created a sweet and savory combination that made the mouth water. The wine paired well enough with the dish, but I had to drive home, so we both decided to drink light. 

Dessert was really great too. Bernadetta’s was well known for their bakery, but the tiramisu Marcy picked was super fresh. They must have made it that day.

We played a couple more games of Spit (two I almost won) before I figured it was time to leave. Marcy wrapped up a piece of the cake and half of the lasagna for the road while I grabbed my coat and shoes. As I was about to walk out the door, she grabbed my hand.

“You sure you don’t want to wait a bit longer?” she pleaded. “I don’t feel safe with you driving home in this weather, and there might still be alcohol in your system.”

She wasn’t wrong, the weather was starting to get gnarly. I didn’t relent. “I’m not drunk, Marcy, I had my last glass over an hour ago. I’ll take the side roads just to be safe though.”

The rat-girl crossed her arms. “You’re so stubborn, call or text me as soon as you get home. I’m gonna be worried sick about you while you’re out there. One more thing.”

She leaned in and gave me a peck on the cheek. It didn’t last more than a second, but I could see the red in her cheeks. “Stay safe, Dominic.”

“I will.” I gave her a tight hug, then went out to my car. I took the envelope from the door and withdrew the card, writing a personal message for Marcy. Then, I sealed it and walked back towards the house, knocking 3 times on the door.

She answered the door in seconds. “You forget something? Or do want to wait in here for the weather to clear up?”

I handed her the envelope. “I was waiting to give this to you. It’s a card.”

Tearing open the envelope, she read the front of the card. “’You’re the only thing I give a rat’s ass about’?” On the front of the card, there was a cartoon of a feral rat sitting on a recliner drinking a beer while handing his rat-wife a box of chocolates.

Marcy shook her head and started to laugh. “Really? A rat themed card? Where did you find this?”

“I found it in the market and picked it out because I thought it would get a chuckle out of you.” I smiled. “I’ve got something else for you, too.”

“Hm?”

“Close your eyes.”

She did as I asked and I closed the distance between us. The scent of flowers was just strong enough to pierce through the frigid air. I placed my hands around her waist. We stood there for a few seconds, letting the snow fall around us. “You’ve waited a long time for this, so I hope it lives up to your expectations.”

She put her hands between my shoulders and whispered “Me too.”

Then, our lips locked, and we melted into each other’s arms. I could feel the warmth radiating from her rough, chestnut brown fur, the grasp of her hands on my back, and the coil of her tail around my right leg. I could hear her heavy breathing over the winter wind, hungry for more of the intimacy that she had been starved of. I could taste her, the faint flavors of wine and coffee on her mouth from our evening together. It just felt right, like having a cup of hot cocoa and staying inside during a blizzard.

I don’t have a lot of endurance for these sorts of gestures, so I tried to pull away after some time but Marcy grabbed me by the cheeks and pulled me back in for round two. After a little over half a minute, it seemed we were both a bit too exhausted to keep it going, and we broke apart, both of us gasping for air.

“So,” I asked between breaths, “Was it everything you were expecting?”

“And more.” She replied. Her eyes twinkled like a stray snowflake under a streetlamp. “We’re doing that again, too.”

“That one’s a given. Happy Valentine’s Day, Marcy.”


	11. Chapter 11

“Fucking A… again?” I slammed my last two cards on to the banged-up desk. “I didn’t even hear you put your hand on the pile, you sneak.”

“I don’t know who told you to challenge me to game of Spit, Manza,” said Angelo, placing his hands behind his head. “They must have wanted me to break your balls. How many games has it been so far?”

“Four.” I said curtly.

“And you haven’t managed to win a single round yet. Heh. And Rico used to bitch about you cleaning house!”

“I’m just rusty. You’ve been getting a lot of practice, evidently.”

The rat-man kicked his feet up on to the desk. “You don’t need it when you’re as solid as I am. Rats just have quick hands; you know? Swipe a few apples from the fruit stall without anybody knowing. That’s how we had to eat when we were forced to hide in the sewers back in the old days.”

“Yeah, right. More like swipe a few wallets.”

Angelo gave me a knowing smile. “Who needs to swipe a wallet when I could hustle someone in the park with skills like these?” He picked up all of the cards and started shuffling. “I used to play Spit with Marcy and Leo all the time, taught them both everything I know. I wanted to teach Joey too, but then, well, you know.” His smile faded.

“How are your boys doing?” I asked. “I remember that Leo made Honor Roll last semester.”

“I couldn’t ask for a better son in either of them. Leo’s grown up so much since the trial.” He lowered his voice. “He isn’t technically old enough to visit me alone yet, but he takes his skateboard here sometimes after school, and I have enough sway that the guards let him in.”

“And Joey?”

“Still a troublemaker, but he’s stopped getting into fights at least. Last thing I’d want is for him to hurt himself trying to be a tough guy. Donna’s been doing an incredible job, bless her soul. I’m lucky she loves me enough to not hit me with the papers.”

I held him by the shoulder across the desk. “You’re making the best out of a tough situation. She understands that the last thing you need to worry about is another settlement. She’s a good woman.”

“I think it’s more about the kids, making sure that they have a positive relationship with me without making the same mistakes. They’re just as much hers as they are mine, after all.” Angelo shook off his funk and started to sit upright. “Don’t think I forgot about that little deal we had, Manza. Did you talk to her?” He leaned forward.

I tapped my fingers against the table. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Ange. I asked her and she told me it wasn’t any of my business. Who knows? Maybe she’ll come around someday.”

His ears folded back, and his tail hung low. “I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up. The effort is appreciated, though.”

“Family is family. She’s young, right? She’ll learn.” I said with a shrug, taking the deck of cards back and dealing it out.

I lost another game before Angelo looked at the clock and told me to hit the road.

“It’s been an hour, and I want to keep some visiting time for my son later.”

I nodded and put on my coat and hat. “It’s no problem Ange, it was nice seeing you again. I’ll visit again in March, okay?”

“Whenever you have the time. C’mere!” we hugged and kissed each other on the cheek.

He started to whisper in my ear. “Ramone is none too happy about our little arrangement, especially considering he’s the one who ended up short. Tony doesn’t need to know how many strings I’ve been pulling for you or anyone else.” He patted me on the back. “Smooth things out with Ramone, eh? He asked me to set up a meeting, he’ll guarantee your safety, but he wants recompense.”

“Recompense for what?” I growled. “I gave those cocksuckers their principal back. Isn’t that enough?”

“You know how greedy Ramone can get. Just this one more favor, for everyone’s sake.”

I withdrew from the hug and nodded. “I’ll hear him out. This shit needs to sleep.”

“Very good man!” Angelo clapped. “I wish I could rely on those other chucklefucks as much as I can on you, Manza!”

As the guard escorted me back to the prison entrance, I looked up information regarding Ramone’s old businesses to find a number I could contact him at. I found one under “Florence Realtors” which I gave a rang when I stepped out of the facility.

“Florence Realtors, thank you for calling. How may I help you?” A nasally voice said over the line.

“Hello, does a Mr. Ramone DaFlorenzia still manage this business?”

“Why, yes, he’s the owner.” 

“Can you dispatch this call to him? I have some news for him and it’s important that I speak with him directly.” I opened my car door and sat down behind the wheel.

“Ooh, sorry. You just missed him, he went out to lunch a few minutes ago.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Can you tell him to call me back when he comes in?” I didn’t want to give her my real name in case the phone line was tapped. “Tell him, uh, Nicky T made a call.”

The secretary jotted something down with her pen. “Alright, is this a good number to call you back, Nicky?”

“This number is fine.”

“Could you just repeat it out loud for me?”

I smacked my dashboard in frustration. This woman was giving me agita. Was Ramone still too much of a cheapass to shell out for a modern phone system? I recited my number.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll tell Mr. DaFlorenzia you called. He may get back to you from his personal number, so just keep an eye out. Have a nice day.”

“You too!” I hung up. “Stupid fucking bimbo.”

I revved up the ignition and drove back to the parking garage while I waited for the call. When I walked into the lobby, I noticed that the nosy doorman wasn’t on duty today. I strode to the elevator, pushed the button and walked in. An elderly neighbor of mine was walking out of his apartment, so I stopped to greet him on the way back to my own. Then I unlocked my door and did a thorough sweep for bugs.

I pored through every cabinet, and checked every single drawer for any kind of unfamiliar device. I looked under every piece of furniture in the apartment, flipping my couch to check for anything attached to the bottom. I even shifted a few of my framed pictures to see if the feds smashed a hole in my wall. I found nothing out of the ordinary. Finally satisfied, I placed my cell-phone on the coffee table while I waited for the “realtor” to call me back.

An hour after the initial call, I received a response from a restricted number. Quickly, I answered it. In a familiar sotto voce, I heard the words “Who is Nicky T?”

“Depends. Is this a burner?”

“Of course it is.” answered Ramone. “You know how careful things have to be these days, Manza. A phone call almost gave me 10 in Saint Germaine’s.”

“Let’s cut the formalities.” I said. “How much do you want?”

His voice turned cold. “I want the grand and a half you shorted out of my men. You know I’m a miser for every penny I’m owed.”

“I remember.”

“Shut up. Here’s what you’re going to do. Go to the Deli on 8th Avenue this Monday with my money in an envelope and wait until the server at the counter lets you into the back room. We’re going to pat you down when you walk in. If we find a wire or a weapon on you...”

Ramone let ten seconds of silence speak for him.

Then, in a friendlier tone, he continued. “Well, you’re smarter than that. After you hand me the envelope, we’re going to sit down talk for a little while. Then you leave in the safety of your car, and you don’t speak a word about this to an outsider. Any questions?”

My hands started to tremble. Angelo would never try to get rid of me, would he? He was already doing life, he had nothing to lose. Still, I needed to make sure that I was safe. “Can I get any kind of assurance this isn’t a trap? I know Tony doesn’t want me involved in this thing anymore, so how do I know you aren’t just planning to put me down like an animal the second I’m away from the public eye?”

“Because I want my money, and I have nothing to gain from your untimely disappearance. Besides, I want to make a proposal to you. You kept your mouth shut two years ago, and assuming it didn’t loosen since then, I think my associates and I can trust you for the time being.”

“What kind of proposal?” I started to scratch at my neck.

I heard the rat-man scream at someone else over the line. He came back with “A proposal to kiss my hairy ass. What do you think? A business proposal, the kind I want to take care of in person.”

“We’ll talk about it on Monday then.” I hung up then slammed my fist against the wall, causing the hanging picture frames to shake. “Fuck!” I thought Tony ordered his captains to cease all contact with me. What could this prick possibly want to “propose?”

I ran my hands through my hair. If it wasn’t for Pete and the fucking car I wouldn’t be in this position right now. The extra $1,500 I was going to have to fork over was coming out of his check, too.

Over the next few days, I barely got any sleep. I kept thinking about my upcoming meeting with Ramone. Was he trying to take me back out of retirement, or did he think he could try to collect from me? I wasn’t upset about paying interest on the loan, that’s standard, all things considered. But if this slime-ball thought he could squeeze protection out of me he had another thing coming. 

I drove out to 8th Avenue on the evening of February 23rd and parked in front of “Catale’s Cold-Cut Castle.” The store was built from red brick with “turrets” sticking out from the top, and there was an LED hanging from the window that displayed the head of a pig with crossed out eyes. Awful taste. A bell rang from the door as I walked into the shop, and a bald man wearing a red-stained apron greeted me from behind the counter, under which was a cooling unit full of wrapped meats and cheeses.

He turned his head. “Manza? Is that you? It’s been too damn long!” He hopped over the counter and went for a hug, which I immediately backed away from. The butcher seemed a bit offended before looking down at his apron. “I didn’t realize how dirty this thing was.”

“Do I know you?” I asked.

He frowned. “Joey Catale? You helped me refinance this place after the big guy went to prison.”

“Joey!” I shouted, reaching for a handshake. “Yeah, I helped you with the loan, right?” I didn’t remember this mook at all.

The display seemed to appease him, and he shook my hand. “He’s waiting for you in there.” He pointed with two fingers to the backroom, its entrance covered by a vinyl curtain.

I thanked him and pushed the curtain aside with my hand. The first thing I noticed was the stench of tobacco smoke in the air, it was enough to make me cough. I waved my hand around, trying to fan some of the vapors away.

The backroom contained a few pieces of cutting equipment marked off by tape as well as an entrance to a freezer unit. The room itself was dimly lit by a few flickering amber bulbs and a small window to the left side. Underneath this window hung a crucifix above a round table that sat a few people, most of whom looked like workers. One was a brown rat-man in a gray suit, holding a lit cigar in his off hand. This was the rat I had come here to meet.

Ramone snapped his fingers as he saw me, and one of the workers patted me down.

I held my hands up as they checked me. “Relax, I left my piece at home.”

“You have the money?” asked Ramone, tapping his fingers against the table.

I withdrew the envelope from inside my jacket and threw it onto the table. The rat-man tore open the top, counting out each of the bills to make sure I didn’t short him. Then, he cleared his throat.

“Break time’s over. All of you go sweep up the front or something. I got business to discuss with my friend here.”

All of the grunts shuffled out of the room the same way I came in. The last grabbed a broom and dustpan that was stood up next to the frame.

“Have a seat.” The rat-man gestured towards the chair opposite to him. The table was much smaller than it had first appeared, and I could see a number of empty beer bottles lying around the floor. I pulled out the chair and seated myself.

Unreadable, Ramone held the cigar to his lips, taking the smoke into his lungs before letting it out in a puff. He took out a fresh one from his pockets and rolled it over to me with an expectant look.

“No thanks, I quit years ago.”

He raised an eyebrow. “It’s a cigar for fucks sake. I’ll even light it up for you.” The rat-man withdrew a zippo lighter from his coat pocket.

I pushed my hand out. “I don’t want to take the chance of getting hooked again.”

“Suit yourself.” He stuffed the cigar back into his shirt.

I rested my hands on the table. “You brought me here to make a ‘proposal.’ What exactly do you have in mind?”

“Remember your oath. This never leaves this room.” He looked around the room to make sure nobody was listening in. “A little birdie told me you started a business of your own, fixing up cars, doing oil changes, that whole deal, right?”

I nodded and motioned for him to keep going, waiting for the shoe to drop.

“Well, I have a proposition for you. Some associates of mine have acquired some used cars. It’s difficult to sell them in their current state, so we would appreciate a partner to help divide them for us to sell by individual part. I figured a man of your expertise and current standing would jump at an opportunity like this.”

“That’s one way to ask,” I said, reading between the lines. “If, and I mean if, I do it, I need to make sure my business is protected. It’s my only source of income.”

“I can cash in a favor or two in your name, give you the heads up if anyone’s planning a surprise visit. And if you decide to leave your retirement, maybe we can talk to the big man about you diversifying your portfolio a little.”

“And my employees?”

Ramone shrugged. “If you think they’d be interested in something like this, bring them in for overtime. If not, it’ll be after closing either way, we have our own men for the job. All we really need is a garage.”

“No,” I said. “I mean one of my guys got roughed up by two of your guys.”

“If he’s a good sport about it, let him in.”

“Not what I… forget about it.” I waved my hand in the air. “What’s in it for me?”

Ramone raised his eyebrows. “As I mentioned before, you would have access to many of your old connections, and we would be significantly more careful about protecting one of our own. And, while we would be keeping a large portion of the profits if it was our workers on site, you would still get a decent cut for yourself for providing a location. You can research the numbers on your own, but we would be giving you about 40% on each vehicle.”

I scratched my chin. “It’s enticing; I have to give it some thought. You have my word that it won’t get to the wrong person.”

“You have until Friday to agree, otherwise, we’ll be moving forward with a different contractor. But enough about business, you can make that call on your own. You want anything to go, Manza?”

“What do you mean, like cold cuts?” I thought about it for a second. “Quarter pound of turkey, quarter pound of provolone, and a quarter pound of capicola.”

Ramone smiled for the first time during the entire visit. “Joey!” He called out. “Turkey, provolone and gabagool, quarter pound each for our guest here. On the house!”

I said my goodbyes to my old associate and left the deli with my lunch for the week. That hairy bastard always knew how to butter someone up.

I thought about the offer over the next two days at work. It was still a pretty risky venture to gamble my only income on, and I still didn’t know if I could trust Ramone about his fingers in the police department. I was completely opposed to spending any more time than I had to in prison. 

Another concern was my own workers. I didn’t want Pete running into those two schmucks from the dock again. I didn’t know if I could trust my guys to keep their mouths shut about it either, or if they would be able to figure out what was going on after hours if I didn’t tell them. I’d kick myself if they ended up testifying. 

Still, the potential revenue bump I could get for something like this was huge. The shop’s roof took a beating this winter, and I dreaded having to shell out for repairs. Even taking apart two or three cars would give me a pretty good financial cushion, depending on how much they could salvage and sell.

If it was a long term thing, I’d be able to give my guys better raises, maybe renovate, expand or hire some more mechanics. If I started earning for the family again, I could probably set up a new place for pennies on the dollar, in a nicer part of town. I could move out of my shitty apartment and find a much nicer place, or try to get my old house back. Fuck, I could even set aside a nest egg for a trip to Europe with Marcy. Just the two of us.

Marcy. She’s a smart girl; she would know something was up if I started making a bunch of new plans with her. I still hadn’t told her anything about this thing, and it was starting to bite at me a little. I couldn’t move forward without gauging her response first.

I called her up, and we made plans to meet up during her lunch break that Thursday. With the quality of the cuts I was given from Catale’s, I felt it appropriate to make her a turkey and provolone sandwich as well, with some dried tomatoes to add some flavor. I packed some capicola on the side, too. Stuff was to die for.

After a nightmare spent looking for a parking spot, I met with my girlfriend at her office cafeteria. It was in a separate wing to the rest of the building, but I still needed to get a visitor pass from the front. 

One thing I observed was how disgustingly corporate the whole place felt. It had this sleek minimalist design with white tables and chairs with bright colors as well as booths. Marcy used the word “sterile.” We picked out a small table, and I handed her a sandwich.

“Honestly, you should do this more often.” she said with her mouth full. “If you’re bringing food, I mean. This is so much better than the packaged sandwiches they sell here, and much less expensive.”

“Yeah, less expensive for you, maybe.”

“They charge like 9 bucks for one with a bottle of water. You told me you got the cold cuts for free!”

“That was a one-time thing!” I cried. “And last time I checked, gas wasn’t free. It took me an hour and a half to get here, when I get back that’s half a tank.”

“So wasteful, we’ll have to come up with a different arrangement. I don’t want to miss out on any more of your food, so you might have to send me some more of your recipes. That lasagna lasted me less than a week.”

“You know how sacred that sort of thing is.” 

Marcy wrapped her tail around my leg as we finished our sandwiches.

“Alright,” I said. “I’m at a bit of a crossroads right now with the Auto Shop. You have a good head on your shoulders, so I want your input.”

She smirked. “Tell that to my boss. Hit me.”

“I have a new potential partner, an old friend from my twenties that I’ve reconciled with, and he’s recently gotten into selling used cars.”

“Keep going.”

I grabbed on to her hand and intertwined our fingers. “He thinks he can make a lot more money if he scraps the cars and sells them by part, and he wants me to help him.”

“Did you talk to him or a professional about his numbers?”

I shrugged. “I’ve seen some of his numbers, and the guy is bringing in a lot of cash. I don’t think he’s lying about anything either.”

The rat-girl cocked her head. “You’re not giving me enough information for a sound judgement. But if it’s legitimate than what’s the problem?”

“Can you keep a secret, Marcy?”

Confusion morphed into concern. She nodded.

I leaned in. “I don’t know if it’s legitimate. He’s not telling me where he’s getting the vehicles.”

Marcy lowered her voice and moved in closer, looking around. “Do you think he’s bringing in stolen cars?”

“I don’t know, it doesn’t sound like him, but I don’t know if I should take that risk for my business, even if it does have such big margins.”

She frowned. “The decision’s yours to make, but I wouldn’t even follow up on it. He wants to turn your garage into a chop shop, possibly as a diversion for something else. Do you think this ‘friend’ is going to back you up if the cops break in? Or will he be halfway to Mexico?”

“I don’t think he’s the kind to throw me under the bus, but you do have a point.”

“Even if you could trust him, he’s selling stolen parts.” I felt her grip tighten. “I know it’s not my place but you shouldn’t be keeping contact with criminals, and you really shouldn’t compromise your morals to work with them. I’m a little upset that you would even consider him as a partner, because I know you’re better than that, Dom. How did you even get involved with him?”

“We used to run with the same bad crowd in High School. I grew out of it, he didn’t, you know the deal.” Getting the answer that I needed, I made an effort to wind down that conversation. No use in stressing myself more than I needed to today. “I’ll call him when I get home and tell him to shove it. Thanks for the advice, Marcy.”

Her grip on my hand loosened and I saw her tail start to move a little more. “You’re making the right choice. And I’m glad you trust me enough to share something like that.” I could barely look her in the eye.

We finished up our food and removed ourselves from the table. Marcy had apparently gone over her thirty minutes and was in a rush to get back to her cubicle. “I’ll call you when I get home, OK?”

Her and I exchanged a brief peck on the lips, and I exited the soulless building. I found my Toyota in the parking lot, got into the driver’s seat, and I sat there. I sat there for 10 minutes, face in my hands, trying to think of how the hell I was going to get myself out of this mess.

I wrestled with the idea of calling her and ripping the band-aid off as soon as she got home, but that seemed inappropriate. I could wait until the next time we met and try to break the truth, which would be more respectful, but if she didn’t take it well there wouldn’t be any out. There was also the concern about incriminating myself or anyone else in the family. I couldn’t risk her coming forward to the authorities with anything I shared. I wasn’t going back to prison. But even telling her only small bits and pieces felt dishonest.

In the end, I chose to suffer through the guilt and say nothing. That was probably my greatest mistake.


	12. Chapter 12

I spent another three months keeping the truth about my criminal history hidden from my girlfriend. It didn’t matter that it was almost inevitable that she would find out at this rate. I continued to rationalize that my oath prevented me from admitting anything, that I would be betraying Angelo and everyone else by telling her.

Angelo was another matter altogether. He had asked me once or twice about the women in my life, which I always shut down immediately. I can’t imagine it’s ever easy talking to someone about dating their daughter, but for as much as I loved Angelo, he was a dangerous man. This is someone who kept his daughter as far away from his empire as possible. If I said the wrong thing I could end up in a dumpster.

I cursed myself every day in those three months for getting attached. I should have cut her off the second I found out she was Angelo’s kid. I should have got up and walked out of the room. Maybe she would take it poorly, but at least neither of us would be in this position. But I was starting to feel the pressure of my age. And here comes this young, pretty stranger with a sharp mind, receptive to conversation. And she was lonely, and I was lonely, so I let her in.

I still enjoyed my time with Marcy. The conversation never got boring, and her kitchen smelled like heaven when we were in there together. We went out to the movies a few times together, and once the weather got warmer, she started looking for new things to try, dragging me along voluntarily on all of her adventures. It was when I was alone with my thoughts that things really got hard to handle.

The Auto-shop was my one sanctuary from the stress of keeping up the façade, but even there things weren’t great. When Pete finally got the go ahead from his doctor to come back to work, high spirits only lasted for a few days. Seeing a fraction of his wages withheld on each payday did a number on the kid’s disposition, and although I didn’t sense any resentment from him, there was still a measure of awkwardness between us if he tried to initiate conversation.

At least I finally cleaned up my act completely. Keeping my word, I called Ramone after my conversation with Marcy to break off the inkling of any arrangement we may have had. I could feel his frustration in every word he uttered, but all he told me to do was keep it under wraps. Given my brief interaction with Tony at the beginning of the year, I don’t think it would have worked out regardless. I was staying on the straight-and-narrow for the time being. Maybe it would help me when it came time to come clean.

It had been a slow week at the auto shop. Pete had taken on extra hours in order to work through what he owed me faster, and I had decided not to charge him the extra grand and a half I got saddled with. Kid had enough shit to deal with. Running low on paperwork with the tax season long gone, I got my hands dirty doing a couple of oil changes and did some other easy jobs to break up each day.

When Thursday came around, I woke up to the ringing of my cell phone. Rubbing my eyes with my left hand, I picked up to the voice of my girlfriend. “It’s my day off, why are you calling me at 7 AM?”

“Did I disturb Grandpa’s beauty sleep? It’s a national tragedy!” she jeered. “My stepmom asked me to pick up Leo and Joey from school today. Since I’m going to be in the neighborhood I wanted to know if you were free to do anything today, after 3 specifically?”

“Maybe. What exactly do you have in mind?” I sat up. “If it’s another romantic drama I’m not paying for tickets.”

“You’re so full of shit, when we were watching 10 Summers After you didn’t say a word to me for the entire runtime. And I caught you tearing up when Bradley left for Iraq in the middle act.”

I rolled my eyes. “It was the glare in the theater, the screen was too bright. I don’t cry at movies, especially not chick-flicks. I’m not an emotional weakling.”

I could hear her enthusiasm over the phone. “Forget about all that other stuff, we’re not seeing a movie today. They have a discount at the bowling alley today. It’s half-price for two games.”

“Bowling? I’m down for a game or two. You said 3 P.M.?” 

“Yessir! It’s Kingpin’s Alley, about a mile in from the docks. We’ll meet up there, okay?”

I didn’t recognize the name, maybe it was a new business? “You got it.” I hung up the phone and got out of bed to stretch. I heard a crack and immediately grunted in pain. Fuck, my back was still killing me, and I had just gotten a new mattress too. Maybe I should see somebody about that, I thought.

I picked out a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from my drawer. Bowling didn’t warrant anything more. A quick trip to the deli for a bacon egg and cheese sandwich started my morning on a good note, and I spent the rest lazing around on the couch. I caught the mayor’s press conference, rolling my eyes as he talked about a new policy of enforcing higher penalties against littering. As if it would make downtown look any prettier, I thought. What this place needed was a power wash and a new coat of paint.

At 2:30, as I was grabbing my keys to leave my apartment, I got a call from my office phone. “That you, Jerry?”

“It’s, uh, Eric actually.” I heard shrill shouting over the other end of the line. “Boss, we need you in here, like right now.”

“Sounds likes someone’s getting murdered on the other end, Christ. What’s going on?”

“It’s a problem customer,” he whispered, “She came in asking us to give her car an inspection but flipped out when we told her everything wrong with the fucking thing. This nutcase keeps cursing us out and threatening us with bad reviews if we don’t pass her car. She refuses leave the premise until she speaks to the owner.”

“I have plans right now, you three can’t handle it? Why didn’t you just call the cops?” I asked.

“Pete has a baggie on him, and he’s afraid the fuzz will search him.”

I squeezed the phone. “I told that degenerate not to bring pot into my fucking business! Has he been lighting up on the job?”

I heard a pause. “I can’t answer that, but he said he wouldn’t do it at work.”

I punched the wall with my free hand, leaving a hole in the drywall.

“Boss?”

“I’ll be there in 15.” I hung up the phone and shoved it in my pocket, slamming the door closed and locking it behind me. 

I got behind the wheel and drove to the auto-shop like a bat out of hell, blowing past a stop-sign on my way out of the parking garage. 

Jerry pointed the problem customer towards me as soon as I walked through the entrance. “There’s the owner, you can talk to him. He’ll tell you the same thing.” 

The large blonde woman pushed my assistant manager aside and waddled towards me, her hands clutching her purse. “You’re the owner? My name is Cici, and your employees didn’t pass my car when it went up for inspection. It drives fine.” She gestured towards a beat up Ford Explorer that was parked in the middle of the garage.

I glanced at the car and back at the woman. It took all I had not to scream. “Uh huh. There’s more to an inspection then making sure a vehicle ‘drives fine’, Mrs. Cici. My employees were probably just concerned that you or your passengers wouldn’t be safe.”

The woman narrowed her piggish eyes. “My passengers aren’t your business, why are you all giving me such a hard time? My old mechanic used to pass me in like 30 seconds, it was in and out.”

How long did they stay in business? “My business can lose certification if we pass your car in this state, ma’am. But we can do the repairs for everything on-site if it’s not an issue with you.”

She sighed. “Whatever. Is there a senior discount here? I’m over 55.”

“20%, we’ll apply it to your bill.”

“OK. Just don’t let the rat inspect the interior, I don’t want any of my jewelry missing.”

I called my employee over. “Pete, clock out. We’re gonna have a conversation tomorrow.” The rat-man nodded and grabbed his backpack from a coat hook, scuttling out. “Eric, drop whatever you’re doing and step out too.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” He backed away with a wrench in his hand.

With a cold look, I jabbed my thumb towards the garage opening. “Find another shmuck to do your repairs.”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Take your shitbox and get out of my garage before I call the cops.”

Her face grew red and she gritted her teeth. “You don’t have the right to treat me this way. I’ll make sure none of my friends or family ever come here again.”

I opened my arms. “Fine by me, I don’t want business from grifting cunts like you.”

“I should have known a place like this would be run by morons, fuck you!” she spit, opening up her car door. “Who hires a rat to do a man’s job?”

I flipped her off. She pulled out of the garage, knocking over a garbage can along the way. Pieces of trash were carried off in the wind or otherwise tumbled into the street. So much for the mayor’s new policy. 

My phone rang in my pockets. Should’ve told her I’d be running late.

Pointing to Eric, I said “Take care of this mess. If she comes back, call the cops. And don’t bring drugs on my fucking property ever. That should be a given.”

“What did we do?” asked Eric.

I returned Marcy’s call once I got back into my car. “Sorry, Marce, just had to take care of something at work, I’ll be there in a few. Kingpin’s Alley, right?”

“Right, by the docks.” she said.

I plugged it into my GPS and got to the alley at about 3:20. It was a wide building, painted red and gray. There was a model of a massive bowling pin with a crown on its head at the building’s front entrance.

My girlfriend was waiting for me in front of her car. “I thought you were off on Thursdays?”

“Idiot employees couldn’t handle a problem customer, sorry I didn’t call you earlier. I’ll tell you more when we get inside.”

We walked hand-in-hand through the automatic doors into the bowling alley. The facility was lit with overhead lamps, which reflected off of the waxed lanes. Looking around, we saw a number of families playing their own games, as well as a group of old folks staking claim to a number of lanes at the very end. It seemed many were also taking advantage of the deal. The place was awash with the sounds of laughter and crashing pins.

The manager was a man in his 50s with a wide smile and a thick moustache. He greeted us at the front desk with a warm smile.

“Two games for each of us please.” I said.

He punched something into the terminal. “I'll set you up in lane 15, and can I get your shoe sizes?”

“12.”

He handed me a pair of rental shoes from a cubby. “And you, miss?”

“Uh, 4.” Marcy whispered.

“You’re in luck!” The manager grinned. “We just got two pairs of adult 4s this week.” He took another, smaller pair of shoes out from under the desk. “Enjoy your games!”

I looked over at the rat-girl, who had snatched the shoes from the desk. I turned my gaze towards her shoes. “You really do have baby feet.” She scowled at me. “Hey, at least they have an adult pair for you.”

“You have no idea how hard it is trying to find a pair in my size that aren’t kiddy shoes.” She grabbed my hand again. “You really didn’t notice my tiny feet until now?”

“With a face as cute as yours? Who would?” I gave her a kiss on the nose.

As we picked out our bowling balls, I finished up my work story. Marcy’s eyes seemed to brighten. “Sounds like a woman I see at the soup kitchen every once in a while. First time we spoke, she asked me, ‘Aren’t you supposed to be on the other side of the counter?’”

I tried to stifle a laugh by covering my mouth. “That’s fucking terrible. She’s certainly one to talk.”

“That’s what I wanted to say! We have a dignity policy at the place though, so I just finished serving her as soon as I could.”

Marcy put both of our names into the terminal and stepped back with me to watch as the mechanism placed the pins perfectly. I always wondered how those sensors worked.

Grabbing my ball, I took a few steps forward, lining up my body in the right position. I took a few “fake throws” to practice my aim, then on the fourth, I released. The ball rolled down the lane, curving and slamming into 8 of the pins, not the worst start. I grabbed my ball the second it came out of the return chute. On my second try, I was able to knock down the other two, earning myself a spare.

Marcy picked up her own ball and rolled it down the lane where it curved and fell into the gutter.

“Just a warm-up throw,” she said. She waited a few more seconds for the ball to come back up the return chute and brought it back to the lane, where she threw it once again into the gutter.

I said nothing as I grabbed my ball from the return rack and earned a nine. As she went up for her second turn, I paid a little more attention to her form. Nothing looked off from a distance but she still couldn’t seem to knock down more than three pins, and it was starting to get to her. “Try aiming a bit more to the right to account for the curve.”

“If I do that, I overshoot and the ball ends up in the other gutter. I’ve been trying to send it straight.” She threw for the fourth time, again, not striking a single pin. I heard a frustrated sigh escape her lips.

I threw another spare in my third round. It felt good to get into the rhythm of this again.

When Marcy went up for her third round, however, she attempted the between the legs throw, which finally brought me out of my seat. I couldn’t let her disgrace herself in front of everyone like that.

“Yeah, no.” I grabbed her by the shoulder. “You’re learning how to throw properly with one hand.”

“Fine!” She shouted. “Show me how to do it if it’s so easy for you.”

“First of all, take a deep breath. It’s just a game, nothing’s on the line if you lose.” I felt her shoulders loosen as she calmed down. “You want to throw the ball straight, right? Start with your footing.” I pulled her several planks right of center. “Positioning yourself like this will send your ball straight down the lane. If it helps, I would put my foot on or close to this diamond right here.”

“This one?” She placed her foot on the painted diamond.

“Yeah. Next thing you want to do is make sure your arm is coming out straight. Practice a throw for me.” I watched as she brought her arm back up in a fake roll. “Looks like you’re doing a good job of it, maybe focus on how you release the ball then. Give it a practice run.”

I stood at the side while Marcy focused her aim and released, knocking down 6 pins. It was an improvement, but what was more important was that I got the data I needed.

“Your wrist twists when you roll the ball, causing it to spin a little. Your arm movement is correct but that little thing is hurting your aim.” I got in closer and held her arm to show her what I meant. I guided it up, holding her wrist straight from the beginning of the arc to the release.

“I think I can mirror that,” she said.

I returned to the side, gesturing towards the lane with my hands.

Marcy took a deep breath and strode up the lane, keeping her footing correct. She straightened her aim, held her wrist straight along the balls arc, and then released. The ball hit the rest of the remaining pins. The display lit up with the word “SPARE.” She beamed at me.

“I got a spare, Dom! You see that?” She stepped away from the lane and gave me a hug, which I returned.

“You did good, Marcy. The challenge comes in doing it consistently. Good players know how to take advantage of the spin to hook it into the pins.”

“One technique at a time! I don’t do this too often.” she said, letting go. “Where’d you learn how to play?”

I grabbed my ball from the rack. “Picked up a couple of things from friends who played in high school. It’s crazy how seriously some people take this game, but I guess if they didn’t we wouldn’t have an alley.”

I was able to finish both of my games above 100, which was all I was ever really capable of. Marcy finished her second game with a respectable score of 90. 

“I had a great time today, Marce, but I think I’m gonna call it here.”

“You’re just quitting while you’re ahead. We’ll be back.”

We put our bowling balls back on to the rack and were about to return our shoes when we heard a yelp from the front desk. We went to investigate from a distance.

Two rat-men, both dressed in tracksuits and wearing masks, were standing above the manager from before, taking turns kicking him in the stomach. A third in a striped suit was standing off to the side. His face was also covered. 

I grabbed my girlfriend by the hand. “Leave the shoes where they are, Marcy, we need to get the hell out of here.”

Marcy pulled away. “Those thugs beating the shit out of him, We have to do something!”

“I can’t take three on one, and I wouldn’t forgive myself if you got hurt. We need to go now!”

“They could kill him, Dom!” The rat-girl gave me a disappointed glare, one that withered my soul away with each passing second.

“Fine.” I grabbed my keys from my pocket and handed them to her. “There’s a revolver in my glove compartment. I want you to exit from that door. Grab the gun for your own protection, then come back in from the front while I try to sneak up on the other two guys. If nothing else that should keep you safe.”

Marcy nodded and followed the plan, leaving the building through a back door. I looked for something around the building that could give me an edge in the fight. 

Near the bar, I found a billiards table with the balls all set up for the game to start. The players seemed a bit preoccupied with watching the fight. I thought about taking one of the cues to use as a club, but realized I was dealing with mobsters. They could be strapped, and that made things a lot harder. I decided to pocket a few of the balls instead. If I couldn’t get close, I could beam them with these from far away.

I took one last deep breath. There was a real chance I could die here, or at least get myself badly hurt. When the coast was clear, I moved behind a small barrier to get a vantage point on the two underlings.

“You ready to pay up pal? Or do we have to break another pair of ribs?” One asked.

“Fucking punks…” The man’s voice sounded weak and hoarse.

“Guess somebody’s made their choice.” said the other, pulling back his foot for another kick.

Before he could finish, I threw one of my billiards balls as hard as I could. It connected with the back of his head. The rat-man fell forwards, rendered unconscious.

Seeing his friend get knocked out cold, the other turned towards me and moved to unholster his handgun. I chucked my second ball at his stomach. On impact, he dropped his gun, crumpling to the floor in pain. I hopped over the barrier and picked up the weapon, keeping it out of the hands of the henchman. I saw the third figure leaving the scene from the corner of my eye. 

“Stop where you are!” I shouted.

The figure stopped in his tracks and turned around with his hands up. While the mask was certainly effective, I could recognize the soft voice immediately. “You’re making a big mistake, pal. I’m well connected.”

“I don’t think any connections can help you out of this.” I gestured towards the unconscious manager. “That poor fuck needs to go to the hospital. You must be fucking dense if you think pull a stunt like this in the middle of the day. Look at how many witnesses you left around.”

“Witnesses can be quieted in many ways, my dear friend,” said Ramone, venom on his tongue. “And recon told us that the owner hadn’t set up security yet. Besides, ‘this poor fuck’ could have saved himself the trouble by forking over the cash when we came through the doors. We thought he’d be smart enough to play along.”

He eyed the gun in my hand. “Speaking of smart, it’s pretty bright of you to hold me at gunpoint when you know who I know, Manza. I’m sure that can’t backfire.”

I grimaced, lowering the gun slightly. “Wasn’t my decision to make, someone else wanted to play hero and I couldn’t stop them. This is about keeping them safe.”

“Who’s ‘someone else?’”

“Someone else you’d better leave be.”

I heard some shuffling behind me, and turned to see the still-conscious thug reaching for a bowling ball. I had a split second decision to make. I could shoot the mook in the head and then turn the barrel back onto Ramone, or I could tackle him, knock him out and hope Ramone wouldn’t run away or take out his own piece. Neither option was enticing. One left me without any leverage, but the other could put a mark on my head for the rest of my life.

Turning the gun around in my hand, I jumped on top of the rat behind me. After a struggle where he tried to shove me off of him with one of his arms, I clubbed him behind the ears. He went limp. But my gamble didn't pay off.

“I don’t think ‘someone else’ is coming back for you.” A gun clicked. “Should have died in prison, stunad’.”

Time seemed to slow down. I closed my eyes, readying myself for what I thought was the end. I always thought I would get another chance to confess if I had to go out this way, so I kept putting it off. Perhaps St. Peter would take pity, and I could see Ma and Pa again. If not, well, at least she was safe. I heard the air ring with the deafening blast of a gunshot.

Then, I heard something metallic crash against the ground, followed by a scream of pain. When I turned around, Ramone was clutching on to his arm, which was bleeding profusely. And over the barrier, holding a familiar, smoking .38 snub-nose, was a rat-girl with brown fur.

“Bucchiach!” shouted Ramone. “I ought to gut you like a fish, you cunt!”

Not wasting a moment, I grabbed his pistol off of the floor, putting the safety on it and strapping it to my belt. “Take another look at who you’re talking to.”

The mobster turned to face my girlfriend and froze up completely, uttering a single word.

“Fuck.”

Marcy walked around the barrier, keeping the gun trained on the rat-man. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t try anything else. You call the police.”

“N-N-No, wait!” Ramone pleaded, desperately clawing to take off his mask. “It’s all just a big misunderstanding.” He tore open the mouth-hole wider to stick his face through. “It’s just your uncle Ramone, see? I would never touch a hair on your head, my little niece! Ha ha ha!”

“Uncle Ramone?” she gave me a strange look, then turned back to him. “Groveling like a child, just because I have a gun in my hand?”

“I don’t think it’s because of the gun.” I said, coming to her side.

The rat man produced a crooked, sheepish smile. “You wouldn’t shoot family! Not knowingly, at least?” His eyes darted between us, and “I have an idea, uh, you let me go, we forget about all of this, and I promise, we’ll let bygones be bygones!”

Marcy’s ears narrowed. “You think I’ll just let bygones be bygones when you almost killed two people today? Christ, you’re as delusional as you are pathetic. You get the police on the line, yet, Dom?”

I hadn’t even taken my phone out of my pocket. “Marcy, I think we should take him up on this. The other two are already gonna do time whether we testify or not. It’s not worth the trouble to get him involved. Let’s just let him go.”

She gave me an incredulous look. “You can’t be serious! He almost splattered your fucking brains against the ground and you just wanna let him go? He needs to face justice.”

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” I yelled. “You’ve never been on the wrong side of the mob. You don’t want a hit on your head because you decided to turn in a captain. Take the out.”

“If we let him go, he’s just gonna keep hurting and extorting innocent people. It isn’t right!”

“It’ll catch up to him in the end. It always catches up to you. Don’t stick your neck out because of him.”

She gritted her teeth, gripping my revolver tightly while keeping the barrel trained on her “uncle.” After a few seconds, she closed her eyes, placing the gun at her side. Marcy pointed to the mobster. “Get the fuck out my sight.”

Ramone pushed himself back onto his feet with his good arm, making his way to a different fire exit. Marcy handed me my revolver, and I put the other firearms off to the side while keeping Ramone’s strapped on my belt. She made sure that everyone else was alright while I called a private ambulance for the manager. A few of the gentlemen from the bar came to restrain the remaining thugs.

Marcy pulled on my shirt wearing a grim expression. “We need to talk outside.” 

I nodded, and followed her out into the parking lot. There was a cool breeze in the air.

“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, Dominic,” she said. “What you did in there was brave, especially considering how close you came to biting it.” 

She started to choke up. “And… you have no idea how relieved I am that you’re alive, that I got there in time. If that worthless fucking maggot my father called a friend had shot you when I pressured you into saving that manager, I…” Tears started to run down her face, and she broke down into sobs.

I pulled her in close and started to rub my hands along her head. “It’s okay, Marcy. It’s over, he’s not gonna hurt either of us anymore. You’re safe, we’re safe.”

“I love you, Dom. I really love you.” She buried her face into my chest.

“I love you too, Marcy.”

“That… makes this next part a lot harder…” The rat-girl took a deep breath and broke away from my arms. 

“Dominic, we need to stop seeing each other.”

We stared into each other’s eyes for a minute. The leaves of the nearby trees rustled with the wind. The hum of passing cars could be heard from the highway.

When she realized I had nothing to say, she continued, anger starting to well in her voice. “And you already know why. You’re an ex-con who was mobbed up, you knew I was Don Angelo’s daughter, and you said nothing about any of it. You lied to me for months about who you really were.”

“I guess I can’t really hide it anymore after what you saw today. Heh.” I said, holding my hands up.

Her brow furrowed and her fur stood on end. “’After what I saw today?’ Are you fucking serious? You hung out with the ‘wrong crowd’ in high school. Somebody asked you to help them sell cars for scrap. There’s a whole 15-year gap in your life story, and you can’t even look me in the eye when I bring up Angelo.” 

I looked at my feet.

“You really thought I was that stupid? I’m insulted. I knew something was sketchy about your past, Dominic, I knew for a while. I wanted to give you room so you could tell me yourself before I found out from someone else. I guess it was too much to ask from you.”

“I wanted to tell you.” I whispered, keeping my head down. “More than anything. I never wanted things to get this far without telling you. But the way you demonized your father made me afraid. I thought you would have reacted like this, or worse. I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Then what was your plan?” she asked. “Look me in the eyes. When were you going to tell me? Or were you just hoping that the charade wouldn’t end?”

I brought my head up but still couldn’t find the strength to match her gaze.

She turned around. “I love you, but you’re just like my father, Dominic. I can’t trust you. I can’t associate with someone who can lie to me about this for so long.”

I watched as she walked back to her car, slamming the door shut behind her as she pulled out into the road. And when I could finally look her in the eyes, all I saw was betrayal.

“It’s over.”


End file.
